Another Dream
by dragoon811
Summary: Another night of waking before he could come. Another night of aching to be touched and desired. Just another fucking dream of Hermione Granger...and tomorrow (tonight?) was the annual Order of the Phoenix Christmas Eve party. Which meant he'd see her. In person. With those bright eyes and curls and... Update: Chapter 30 is up. Sorry for the wait!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, shape, or form, own the Harry Potter name, world, or characters. I'm just playing with them. If you think I actually get any form of monetary compensation for writing this, then I'd like you to realize you have a horrible case of the stupids. Go eat something nutritious, get some rest, then sign back online.

Author's Note: Yes, yes, I KNOW, another fic. Yes, I'm still working on Guilt and a Smile. Yes, I will finish Guilt and a Smile. This should be a quick one, AND it starts at Christmas. Fitting, eh? As for how quickly this will go...depends on how hard the plot bunnies bite. By the way, did you know plot bunnies bleed pink when you squish them? Just wondering. Fast little suckers, too.

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**

He exhaled harshly, rocking his hips and grinding his cock into the soft mattress beneath him.

Another. Fucking. Dream.

Another night of waking before he could come. Another night of aching to be touched and desired. Just another fucking dream of Hermione Granger...and tomorrow (tonight?) was the sixth annual Order of the Phoenix Christmas Eve party.

Which meant he'd see her. In person. With those bright eyes and curls and...

He heaved himself over in bed with a soft groan. Severus wasn't sure whose grand idea it had been to start the fucking Christmas Eve party tradition; he'd happily missed the first one. Being in a magically-induced coma to purge his body of snake venom was not, apparently, conducive to attending Christmas parties.

Or your own trial, for the matter.

Waking up in a panic only to find your throat layered in bandages as a nurse tried to calm you - _"Don't talk, Mr. Snape," "It's alright, you're at St Mungo's," "Will you hold still?!"_ - and to find Harry _fucking_ Potter standing at the end of your bed with tears in his eyes, ready to read you your freedom from what _had_ been a rather elaborately-worded pardon before it'd been crumpled by the boy-who-could-not-leave-well-enough-alone-and-let-me-live-my-life had been both annoying and gratifying.

He'd warily let Potter get through his pardon, but when the boy fidgeted with his visitor's pass and started to apologize, he'd made the rather spectacular discovery that screaming at the boy to get out and leave him the bloody hell alone would tear his throat back open and all that would come out was a garbled growl and blood.

Well, that was certainly a bloody hell.

Then he spent another few weeks in a sleep, before the Healers woke him to say they couldn't make his neck stop oozing blood.

At which point, they gotten a rather abrupt lesson in why _not_ to get between Professor Snape and a cauldron when dunderheads were, apparently, trying to kill him, even if said Professor _was_ clad in a rather short hospital-issue bathrobe.

If he could have muttered under his breath about their utter lack of anything more than empty air between their ears as he made his _own_ damn tailored coagulant, he would have.

* * *

The second Christmas Eve party – his first attending – it'd been Minerva who'd dragged him from his home in Spinner's End, completely and entirely immune to his glares.

She'd ignored his rather pointed gestures that suggested just where, precisely, she could put the "warm welcome that had been extended to him".

"Even if you spend the evening in the library, Severus," she'd told him crisply after thrusting his cloak at him, "you _will_ come this year. Last year, you had an excuse. This year, you do not. You're one of us, whether you like it or not."

So, he'd snagged a sheaf of parchment and a self-inking quill from his desk, swirled his cloak around his shoulders before following the tartan-clad witch out the door.

* * *

Somewhere between the chorus of "PROFESSOR!" (never mind he wasn't "Professor" anymore) and the apparent need by most Order members present to try to speak at him, he'd finally escaped to the library. He didn't need their pity. He didn't need their apologies or questions without a chance to even _try_ to put quill to parchment.

The library was cheerfully silent. Well, perhaps not _silent_, but certainly blessed quiet, he'd gotten used to that, though; the subtle sounds of crackling logs, the creaking of an old house, soft footsteps, distant noise of people who genuinely care.

Severus perused the collection of books, appreciative of what had to have been Miss Granger's endeavor to help reclaim Grimmauld Place from the dreary pall of the Black family. The books were clean, several repaired, and, most important to his mind, _sorted_.

He selected his tome, a rather droll collection of Wizarding anecdotes of the Muggle world that, for some peculiar reason, rhymed. He'd always wondered if it had been authored by an ancestor of the Lovegood girl – her essays had been positively hysterical upon occasion.

He discarded his cloak to the ottoman, and pulled the collar of his jumper away from the raw scarring on his neck. When brewing for Hogwarts, he wore what they expected to see him in; unrelieved black frock coat, full cape, boots - a mere scowl and any students (and once Mrs Norris, that had been delightful) between him and the infirmary bolted for cover - but at home, he found he preferred the Muggle garb he'd grown up seeing. No need to pad his neck with gauze, for jumper collars now were lower, and it was apparently acceptable now to wear a mere tee-shirt beneath, rather than a proper collared one. Oh well, it suited him to not have to resist digging his fingers into his neck when the pain or itching drove him nearly mad.

He settled into his book, and was peaceably a quarter through the bit on undergarments and their relation to the Muggle need to pretend the world was on fire, when there was a soft tap of the library door.

"Pardon, sir," came Miss Granger's voice, giving him a moment to turn to see her.

She smiled at him, pushing the door open with her foot, hands occupied with a tea tray.

"Sorry to disturb, Professor, but I thought I'd bring you a spot of tea, since you've missed supper." _That would be the fault of the Silencing Charm I placed outside the room, girl_. She set the tea tray down on the ottoman, careful not to spill on his cloak. "I think I've got all your favorites, and the tea's a lovely black. I wasn't sure on cream or sugar or lemon, so I brought a bit of all, along with honey."

She straightened once more.

"Happy Christmas, Professor. I'm glad you're here with us." Then, Hermione Granger smiled at Severus Snape, pressed a slim box into his hands, squeezed his shoulder gently, and exited the room, softly closing the door behind her.

He hadn't needed to say anything to her brief visit, and he was astounded at her simple gestures. And a gift. With a card, even, just a simple "Happy Christmas, Professor/From: Hermione Granger". Tasteful paper in a rather pretty silver-on-white, and a curled green ribbon, the type of curl you could get with – ah, yes, there it was, the press of the edge of the scissors, she'd wrapped it herself... and inside the paper he so carefully peeled away was a plain little box, but in the box was a scarf.

Gently, Severus lifted the scarf from the box. It was lightweight, but a deep, deep green, almost black, and looked soft as cashmere. It was clearly charmed for a proper temperature, to be worn in any season, but what struck him most was that it was charmed for softness. Soft, and gentle and comfortable, and entirely unable to bother his neck in the slightest. Her simple kindness struck him speechless.

Which was fine by him. He hadn't been able to speak since battle.

* * *

Don't hate me for running two stories at once, alright? It's a slightly fluffy Christmas fic and I can't resist finishing it off while I sob all over having to write the shack bit in Guilt and a Smile.

Hope your holidays are all going well! I've almost wrapped everything, but need to finish up cards. Oops. Also, getting sick. Darn it. Christmas is my favorite Holiday! I'm not allowed to fall ill!

Enjoy as this goes on, and all reviews are welcome. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, shape, or form, own the Harry Potter name, world, or characters. I'm just playing with them. If you think I actually get any form of monetary compensation for writing this, then I'd like you to realize you have a horrible case of the stupids. Go eat something nutritious, get some rest, then sign back online.

Author's Note: Thank you for the lovely reviews and follows thus far! Look, I wrote another chapter lol.

* * *

**CHAPTER 2**

The third annual Christmas Eve party had found him in the library again, away from the press of people. There were more books this time around, and he chose one of the newer tomes at random. Same as last year, he discarded his cloak...but not the scarf.

It was soft, he told himself sternly and he touched it gently, almost to ensure it was still in place. It kept his neck from view and irritation. Useful.

Footsteps, then a soft tap on the doorframe.

"Happy Christmas, Professor. Mind if I join you?" Granger again, with another tea tray and smile that brightened when she saw the scarf. He waved his hand negligently, and she set the tray down next to him. Again, all of his favorites, and the tea was something aromatic, Ceylon, he thought, and two cups.

Then she had picked up the book from the end table (was she living at Grimmauld?), and sat on the couch to read.

They sat in companionable quiet for quite some time; the quiet enhanced by the slight tapping of his finger on the arm of the chair, the crackle of the logs, the turning of pages, the clink of china or the splash of tea.

He flicked his eyes up to study her between pages. She was absorbed into whatever she was reading, hair pulled back, and just... sitting. With him. Didn't try to _thank_ him – Merlin, that was annoying to put up with, didn't try to talk to him and wait patiently for him to write down answers, didn't act like his silence was an imposition or annoyance.

It was...nice. She smiled at him like she meant it. And she had given him a present. Didn't seem to expect one back. He didn't even feel beholden to the girl – young woman, whatever. It was an interesting feeling, someone not wanting something from him.

She looked up as she reached for her teacup and caught him watching. Hermione smiled, and Severus tilted his head, lifting an eyebrow in query.

"More tea, sir?"

He inclined his head and accepted the cup.

"I'm glad you're here," she said, watching her hands as she added sugar to her own cup before passing it to him. "And it's doubly nice you're a Potions master."

Ah. So she did want something. Probably nothing illegal or difficult...He gestured for her to continue and she flushed.

"Sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like. I just meant that...well, you're more or less an institution and you've always had a great deal of power." She smiled tentatively. "I loved watching you demonstrate potions, you clearly enjoyed that, if not teaching, and I thought it would be a terrible shame if you couldn't continue."

She glanced away, at the fire.

"Sorry, Professor, if I'm being out of line," Hermione said. "I'm being maudlin, always happens at Christmas. You missed the first party, we were all a right mess. I don't think any of us really understood the impact of so many people missing. But last year, you came, and things were better... you were missed, sir. Sounds odd to you, probably, but..I would hate to think of you diminished in any way."

She didn't think he was diminished? Bloody hell, he could only cast nonverbals now, which meant his strongest spells were as good as useless, but... she didn't think less of him? He couldn't speak, couldn't make much noise at all without pain, and she still thought that of him? Didn't want anything from him, either? Astounding.

Hermione made a brief sound of disappointment. "We're out of cream." She rose and lifted the teapot and the creamer. "I'll just get us a refill, shall I, Professor?"

"Oh, I almost forgot!" She set the creamer down briefly to hand him a gift. "Happy Christmas, sir, I'll be back in a bit."

If he didn't know better, he'd think she was nervous about gifting him. Two years in a row she'd given him something and fled the room before he could open it. At least she was coming back, so she wasn't afraid of him, and it couldn't be anything awful.

This year's paper was a green, he noted, that shiny green of easy-to-purchase paper that plagued the Muggle shops this time of year. She'd paired with with a gold ribbon this time, and he was appreciative that it was festive without resorting to house colors. He'd bloody well had enough of it.

And the gift itself was simple, a stirring rod. A very nice one, a sturdy wood, eminently practical. Purified as it was, it would be resistant to absorbing any properties of any of his potions. Simple and lovely. He picked up his quill, and was just finishing as she came back into the room.

"Sorry, would have been back quicker, but Ron decided he wanted a snog under the mistletoe," Hermione said, setting down the teapot and casting a cooling charm on her hand. She looked rather disgruntled. "I told him to go snog his pillow. I don't care _how_ much eggnog he's had, we broke up ages ago -well, alright, not _ages_, but certainly long enough that I will not be a drunken Christmas kiss!"

Hermione huffed out a breath and poured them both some tea. "Sorry, sir. Didn't mean to rant."

He twitched his lips in a small smile, and handed her a scrap of parchment as he took his cup.

_Happy Christmas to you, as well, Miss Granger. - Severus. _

She looked at him and smiled brilliantly. "You can call me Hermione. All my other friends do. Happy Christmas, Severus."

* * *

Phew. Chapter 2 down!

Deck the halls with lots of fanfics, fa la la la la, la la la la!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, shape, or form, own the Harry Potter name, world, or characters. I'm just playing with them. If you think I actually get any form of monetary compensation for writing this, then I'd like you to realize you have a horrible case of the stupids. Go eat something nutritious, get some rest, then sign back online.

Author's Note: Thank you for the lovely reviews and follows thus far! I've had a few questions about Severus' voice – as of the first chapter, in "current time", he cannot speak still. Whether or not that will change I shall not divulge. So, as we move to catch up to the first chapter, to the sixth annual party, _he still won't be able to speak_. Oh, he can make some amount of noise - minor vibrations of his vocal chords such as groans (again, first chapter), and I'm sure he could manage a snort or a grunt, since those seem to rely more on the nose than the throat, but more on that as we go, as you'll see. :)

And I'm just wicked enough to try to get you to keep reading to see if it changes. As of right now, as we work our way forward, he cannot.

* * *

**CHAPTER 3 – Part 1**

The third Christmas Eve party he attended, the fourth for everyone else, he was nearly late thanks to work, and Molly had him pinned in the hall to try to berate him.

That was how his life was these days.

Minerva scolded him, by Floo or when she dropped off the list of infirmary brewing, or when he dropped off the completed work (he'd given up brewing at Hogwarts on a regular basis, too many stares). Molly berated him, apparently no longer quailed by dark looks, whenever she got the moment – he didn't come 'round enough, he was too thin, anything she could think of. His employer talked around him or occasionally _at_ him. The staff he assisted at St Mungo's with specialty cases talked to each other and just left him charts to work over. He burned Potter's letters, and tossed the rest of the post that arrived at his home into the spare room, uncaring if it was a fire hazard or not.

Maybe if the damn house burned down when the inevitable Howler exploded it would motivate him to move.

Over the past year, he'd declined three invitations for the New Year's party – one from Minerva as Hogwarts Headmistress, delivered mid-stride as she left the list; one from Potter as the Order of the Phoenix (gleefully burned), from Minerva by Floo call (ignored)... and one from Hermione.

Her Patronus had swum into view in his home on the evening of the 30th and he'd nearly leapt from the battered armchair, wand at the ready, before it opened its mouth and spoke.

"You know, you could just _answer_ a letter. I know I've sent at least two letters _and_ an invitation, Severus, and I'm sorry if I misunderstood. I apologise if I've imposed on your friendship."

And the otter has dissipated, leaving him a bit confused. A trip to the spare room and a silent '_Accio correspondence from Hermione'_ yielded him more answers.

There were just a few letters – one from the year she'd given him the scarf, wishing him a Happy New Year, then this year, an invitation for the Order New Year's Eve party, to ring in the new year (not that he cared, really), a letter just to say hello, telling him that since he was her friend now, she hoped he didn't mind if she wrote him... and then the latest was a bit more concerned, asking if he'd gotten the previous letters, and she had reverted to soundly oddly formal.

Well, fuck. He managed to gain an odd friendship with Mis-Hermione, and not even six days later he'd bollocksed it up. Surely, it was salvageable. He'd been her _professor_, for Merlin's sake, she was bound to know he was a surly, ill-tempered git...

Scowling, he summoned quill and parchment, and spent the better part of an hour trying to draft a response that was not rude, or at least not overly snarky. And legible. He was well aware his handwriting could could go from a scrawl to the illegible scribblings of a drunken spider if he wasn't careful.

_Hermione -_

_I shall endeavor to search my mail in the future for your missives. It was not my intend to toss them aside as I do with all of my mail to avoid the either clearly insane or feeble-minded. _

_As I see no reason to celebrate the gathering of a 'new year', when it will only be the same as the last, except for the digits used to denote its passage, I shall have to decline the invitation to Potter's party. You are welcome to partake of all merriment to be found without thinking I've deliberately ignored you._

_You may, of course, continue to correspond with me._

_-Severus_

Good enough. He exhaled heavily through his nose, considering its merit, before giving up, shoving it in the envelope, writing Hermione's name on it and...well.

This was going to be a problem.

He didn't have an owl of his own – not that he could give the damn thing directions if he did.

He _took_ calls from Minerva – he couldn't place his own.

He didn't even have a bloody Muggle _stamp_ to send it through the bloody Muggle _post._

Well, fuck.

* * *

Eventually, he'd Apparated to Grimmauld, banged on the door, and stood there as imposing as possible, sneering when it was the Weasley girl who opened the door.

"Oh! Profes-"

He cut her off by shoving the letter into her hands with a glare, then turned on the spot.

Luckily for her, he missed the muttered "Still a git..."

* * *

Of course, Hermione'd written to him the next day, with a letter wishing him a Happy New Year, saying she figured he wouldn't want to attend Harry's party, but she'd rather extend the invitation anyway, that she could always hope. _Insufferable Gryffindor attitude, right there_, he thought derisively.

She even apologized for the Patronus' interruption of his time, but she didn't know when he brewed and didn't want to cause a distraction at a crucial moment. _Understanding of the importance of potions, if mediocre in their preparation, _he relented, trying to quash old habits where she was concerned_._

Hermione went on to tell him that she'd been hired at the ministry, in the Laws department, and that she wanted to focus on the laws governing magical races, such as House Elves _-Of course she bloody well does- _and Centaurs, and Goblins.

'Even if you don't put much stock in the new year,' Hermione wrote, 'My mum and dad always have. It's a silly tradition, but we always each come up with a resolution, something we think we can accomplish that year. I want to get my own flat, move out of Harry's. Harry wants to find an engagement ring to give to Ginny, he says, but he's had several pints and I doubt he'll remember. Ron wants to go on at least two dates with the same girl. Ginny wants to make the Harpies' front line this year. Forgive me the childish game, but it's your turn, Severus. What will you do this year?'

He stared at the parchment. What a silly little game to play. Making resolutions. As if making a _resolution_, he mocked, would be worthwhile.

So he'd sat, staring at the owl that had been clearly told to wait for a reply -_ Convenient, that. Good on her this time_ - until it occurred to him he _did_ have a resolution, of sorts.

_Hermione, _Severus wrote under the scrutiny of the owl.

_A childish game, indeed. If you insist on making me answer, then my resolution will be to find you a Christmas present. _

_-Severus._

* * *

Of course, that had started them writing back and forth – she wrote about her job, her frustrations, invited him to meet her for lunch in London if he was at St Mungo's, her search for a flat, her parents, or whatever articles she'd found interesting. Her letters were often long, as her essays had been, but original and engaging, as they had not.

His replies were shorter, but not as terse as they had been. He did not write to her about his frustrations, or his secret job. He declined invitations to lunch, told her it would be cheaper for her to bag her lunches to save up for that flat. He did suggest a few choice insults for the stupidity displayed by her coworkers, wisely avoided any mention of S.P.E.W., answered in depth about the articles _he'd _read, and she'd argue with him and tell him when his wit was too sharp and he'd reply with something cutting and snarky and she always asked the owl she used to wait.

And once she had seen him as he crossed into Diagon Alley, and waved before she'd been pulled away by a coworker. She'd even seemed disappointed to not to have gone and spoken to him.

All in all, it had been an enjoyable year.

* * *

He'd fulfilled his silly resolution, and found Hermione a Christmas present. It was not, by any means, a perfect, wonderful gift, but it was simple, and useful, like her previous gifts had been. (The stirring rod from last year had proved invaluable. Some placed too much value on the glass or goblin-made stirring rods, but one of purified wood was infinitely better, especially in experimental and potentially volatile brews...not that he'd blown up a cauldron since he was seven, of course. His employer, however, seemed bound and determined to destroy at least one a week.)

And so he was here, nearly late for the fourth annual Christmas Eve party - the third he'd attended, the second he'd felt welcomed at, and the first he'd looked forward to -, being scolded by Molly in the hall, when he saw Hermione – the only person who talked _to _and _with _him, who seemed to see him as he had been and was and could be - bounding down the stairs in her Weasley jumper and Muggle jeans. She gave him a dazzling smile, and his look turned dark and thunderous and he wished he could scream in frustration even as her brows drew together in concern.

_Well, fuck, _was all he could think as he realised he rather thought himself in love with her.

* * *

So. Christmas 2001. Part 1. I've decided to break it into two parts for you, since we're getting through the years and they have more contact, now. :)

Hope you're enjoying so far!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, shape, or form, own the Harry Potter name, world, or characters. I'm just playing with them. If you think I actually get any form of monetary compensation for writing this, then I'd like you to realize you have a horrible case of the stupids. Go eat something nutritious, get some rest, then sign back online.

Author's Note: Thank you for the lovely reviews and follows thus far!

* * *

**CHAPTER 3 – Part 2**

_Well, fuck, _was all he could think as he realised he rather thought himself in love with her. It buzzed around his head, and he wanted to scowl it away, frighten the realisation back to where it hadn't bothered him.

The last thing he needed was to moon over a girl half his age, with bright eyes and sunny smiles and the whole world new and open to her...Maybe he wasn't in love with her. That had to be it. It had to be something different.

Maybe it was misplaced affection. Yes, it had been a long time since he'd had a _friend_, someone who treated him like a person, rather than a tool. And she talked to him. And now she was defending him, telling Molly to 'let the man get in the door', and taking his cloak with a smile, asking if he'd been well.

He nodded to her, gave Molly a cold look, and stalked upstairs and slammed the library door behind him, rattling the mirror above the mantle. He gripped the wrapped little canister of tea leaves he'd brought, trying to settle himself.

"Well that was unnecessary," Hermione said, opening the door behind him. She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him. "Are you alright?"

He mimicked her stance and sneered at her. _What do **you** think?_

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, she shouldn't be yelling at you – you're barely late, and it's enough that you're here. She was probably actually _worried_, not that that excuses her behavior, or _yours!_ Slamming the door was completely uncalled for, Severus!"

The muscle in his jaw twitched and he snarled at her. _It's all __**your**__ fault I'm upset! _He whirled and went to the shelf, faltering when he realised most of the books were missing.

He heard a sigh from behind him. "Sorry, I meant to tell you – I found a flat last week, then I got caught up with moving and work and the holiday..."

Hermione moved back into his view and he glared at her, eyebrow raised as if to say, _well_?

"Oh, shut it, you. I was _going_ to tell you! I forgot. But!" She brightened considerably. "This means I've completed my resolution! Remember?"

_I remember._ He stood stiffly. He _was not, could not_ be in love with her.

"Hey" she finally dropped her arms and came over to him. "Happy Christmas, Severus."

And then she _hugged_ him. He was surprised. She'd touched his hand, his shoulder, she'd never just assumed she could _hug_ him. When was the last time someone had hugged him?

It was brief, and she smiled at him, saying something about getting tea and sandwiches since he'd missed dinner again this year, and the door snicked quietly shut behind her.

* * *

Somewhere during his third cup of tea, and his millionth argument with himself – _you don't love her, she'd never want you anyway, you don't know her well enough to love her _ - she broke in with an impatient, excited, "Aren't you going to open your gift?"

He turned an impassive face to her, masking his thoughts automatically. She had her arms propped on the edge of the couch and was watching him expectantly, a smile curving her lips.

An eyebrow lifted, she nudged her chin at the arm of his chair, and he frowned. _When did she put that there?_

"Open!" she said. "It won't bite, promise."

The corners of his eyes crinkled into a tiny, tiny smile, and he summoned her gift as well.

"Oh!" She seemed delighted and picked it up in its plain wrapping. "We both completed our resolutions, then!"

She started to pick at the knot of the string. "I'm actually no good with knots – drives me batty."

Hermione glanced up at him. "Go ahead and open yours!"

He gestured at the package he'd given her. "No, I never use magic to open or wrap Christmas presents!" She seemed genuinely horrified by the idea.

_She understood what I wanted to ask...again._ Discomfited, he pulled back the wrapping – light blue this year, with silver snowflakes and a white ribbon – to uncover a book. He turned it over to look at the title.

_101 Rude Gestures. **Really?**_ Hermione was giggling as she plucked at the knot, watching him under her lashes. He flipped it open and looked down at a few of the illustrations.

He wasn't sure what was showing on his face. Was this an insult? Was she _mocking_ him now? The thought hurt, sharp and hot in his chest. _I am not in love with her! I'm not!_

"Severus." she stopped picking at the knot to reach over and touch his arm gently. "I'm not making fun of you, honest. I thought it was funny, and thought you might, too. They're probably the only insults you _don't _know. You can decimate a person's ego and ruin a day with a single scathing comment. You always have been able to. You know your wit is, well, rather cutting." She glanced down at the parcel in her lap.

"Also..." she withdrew the warmth of her hand and tried to _bite_ the knot, and growled in frustration. "It's a bit of a back-up present, I'll admit. Your other present will be a bit late, I'm sorry. You'll have it by your birthday, promise. You won't break my heart if you don't like it – Merlin, what did you _do_, _glue_ this damn knot shut?!"

"I can't get it." She frowned and handed her gift to him. "Untie it."

He just stared at her.

"Please?"

"Pretty please?"

He took the bloody package, watching her under his brow, putting as much derision into the look as possible.

"No magic."

He glanced down at the book in his lap, and saluted her with number 27.

Hermione's delighted laughter rang through the library.

* * *

In the end, he mused as he stirred the latest batch, it had been a good (if such a word could be applied to his life) Christmas Eve.

For once, Potter had _not_ tried to corner him to ask about his mother. Molly had apologised – repeatedly, before he could make his escape, Minerva hadn't tried to invite him to New Year's at Hogwarts yet, and Hermione had liked her gift.

In fact, she'd pressed a kiss to his cheek, and three days later he was _still _fighting the urge to touch the spot with his fingers.

_I am **not** in love with her._ That was his continual argument, but his heart would sing back _yes, you are! _and then he would end up brooding over it.

The trouble was, he was trying to hard to talk himself out of it. He didn't think he knew her well enough to _love_ her, but he kept declining chances to see her.

She'd invited him to New Year's – declined. She'd invited him to a flat-warming party – declined. Oh, he told himself Potter would be there, but the truth...

Well. That was much more difficult.

His employer began a stream of creative obscenities from the other lab as something exploded and he sighed. Some days, he hated this job.

* * *

Hermione wrote him several times. Once, she'd asked if he had a coffee maker. _I don't drink coffee,_ he'd written back. _There used to be one, but I relegated it to the rubbish bin. _

She wrote to ask if he'd like to come to her flat. For his birthday. She offered to make him cake. _I generally do not celebrate that day_, _there is no need for a fuss._ He'd expected that to be the end of the matter. Apparently, not celebrating one's date of birth was not allowed.

_'Dear Severus,' _he wondered when she'd begun adding 'dear' to the beginning of her letters, and if it was only just now his foolish, foolish heart was noticing it. '_I'm sorry if I've offended you in some way – I wanted to celebrate your birthday with you. You can't avoid me except for Christmas parties!'_

_Watch me,_ he thought blackly.

'_So!'_ Hermione's letter continued. _'You are either welcome to come to my flat, and it will be just us, I promise, like Christmas. Just tea and books, and cake. I'd offer you dinner, but I'm afraid my culinary skills are relegated to what I can get in a tin, sandwiches, and maybe spaghetti.'_

_'You can either come over, Severus, or I'll track my bloody owl to your doorstep and **sit there** with a cake until you let me in, or I freeze. Whichever. And I'll sing the whole time. As loudly and off-key as I can. Yes, I'm threatening you. Badly. Is it working?'_

Silly chit with her Gryffindor persistence. It warmed him, though, that she cared enough to force him to 'celebrate'. The last time someone had 'celebrated' a birthday with him, it had been Lucius, he'd been terribly depressed, he'd gotten roaring drunk, and woke up with a tattoo.

He'd stopped drinking, after that. The occasional glass or pint, but no _drinking_. Did Hermione like wine? He didn't know. So much he didn't know, too much.

He looked around his home. It was dark, it was depressing. Hermione didn't belong here. He sighed and glared at the owl.

_Hermione-_

_Does your flat have a kitchen? _

_-Severus_

* * *

He looked at the gift he'd opened, curious, confused, frustrated.

The evening had been nice; he'd made her watch while he cooked, nothing fancy, just a simple dinner she could make on her own if she chose, and she'd made tea for them with the pu erh dante that been her Christmas gift from him. They'd had cake – blessfully, she hadn't insisted on singing or making him blow out candles – and then she'd bounded over to one of the bookshelves and retried a box.

She'd gotten him a mobile.

He looked up at her.

She smiled.

"It's a mobile." He rolled his eyes and huffed. _I bloody well **know** it's a mobile, you daft woman. I want to know why the fuck you gave it to me._ "They've improved marvelously, look -"

Hermione retrieved a similar device from her purse. "They can send text messages now, you see. And I thought... well, it won't work at Hogwarts, too many wards, but at your house and London and most of Diagon Alley, they function."

Severus frowned at her and picked up his mobile.

"That's why I asked if you had a coffee-maker... I _know _you don't drink coffee, but I figured it would tell me if you were set up for electricity, since it does need to be charged. I prepaid it for six months... if you don't like it, it's alright, I thought you might want to give it a try. You see..."

He turned it over in his hand and gave her a questioning look. _Why? Why did you give me this? _She did something with her mobile, and the thing in his hand buzzed softly . Flipping it open like hers, he looked down at the screen.

"I like talking to you, Severus. That's why."

He smiled softly, the first real one he could remember in a while, and she came and plopped her bum onto the arm of his chair, telling him about the charger, and 'messaging' as his brain tried to focus on her words and not the warmth of her body so close to his.

Later that night, after he'd put the rest of the cake she'd pressed on him - _damn her, when did she find out I have a sweet tooth_ - in the icebox, he hesitated, then opened the mobile.

Reply.

Type.

Send.

And in her flat, Hermione Granger received her very first text message from Severus Snape.

"I enjoy conversing with you as well."

* * *

Phew, chapter 4 down.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, shape, or form, own the Harry Potter name, world, or characters. I'm just playing with them. If you think I actually get any form of monetary compensation for writing this, then I'd like you to realize you have a horrible case of the stupids. Go eat something nutritious, get some rest, then sign back online.

Author's Note: So, hi. Welcome to chapter 5. Yeah, I shouldn't write when tired. I apologise for all typos, misspellings, horrible grammar mistakes, etc. Just fire me. In good news, my wedding dress is gorgeous, and in for alterations! (thankfully, not much to alter, mostly bustling the train!) And we've sent in my sister's Maid of Honor dress to have straps put on. 117 days to go! :-D

Also, don't write fluffy Christmas fics while listening to "Magic Dance". Just FYI.

* * *

**CHAPTER 5 – 2002 Part 1**

To his immense relief, Hermione had not taken to text messaging him as her main form of communication. She still sent her owls, and did not send him messages during the work day, aside from the occasional "Would you like to meet for lunch this week?". One or two nights a month, she asked if he'd like to go for a pint.

He always declined. It wasn't that he didn't want to _see_ Hermione (far from it); it was more that he didn't want to encourage what he had thought to be a dead response.

She made his heart quicken when the mobile buzzed (he'd turned off that infernal bleeping as soon as he'd read the bloody manual), and once, on his way to the apparition point after work, he'd seen her glorious (_since when do I use 'glorious'?)_ tumble of curls out the corner of his eye and he'd ducked into the nearest space between two buildings, too narrow to be an alley, to avoid the inevitable reaction of his body as she passed by.

He'd thought _that_ response was dead, too.

So, they conversed through their letters, and he found himself more and more enthralled with her, and amused by the functions of his mobile. Hermione had no trouble placing an order to whatever take away he wanted; he sent her the information, she would call the locale, and reply to him with the total and time.

She often offered to pick it up, her treat, if he wanted. He declined. He wanted her no where near his house.

Or more specifically, his bed. Entirely too inappropriate.

* * *

It was May when she cornered him on his way from an emergency case at St Mungo's – some dunderhead had thought it amusing to paint his brother with wildly spinning colors and set him loose near a fairy circle. The child had been bitten by rabid blue pixies at least seventeen times after attempting (and partially succeeding) to eat one of the mushrooms of the circle.

Of course, Healers Smythe and Burnden had thought they were so infinitely clever - not listening to the full tale, being so _saccharine _with the brother, so _understanding_ that of _course, _it was _just_ an accident – that they'd treated the boy for the bites.

Which set off a rather alarming reaction between the bites and the paint. Then they dosed him with something else, which reacted to the antidote and the mushroom, and it just went downhill, until _finally, _someone, in their finite wisdom, had suggested calling 'that bastard' for help.

Before even a quarter through the tale, he'd used numbers 14-22 and 37-68 of the book Hermione had given him, had managed to frighten the hell out of the brother, the parents, and both of the inadequate Healers merely with the efforts of quill and parchment. (Terrifying the Healers had been a bonus, he admitted grudgingly to himself. He'd been of the opinion that both were too witless to understand the meaning of terror...they must have been Hufflepuffs.)

He'd been so angry at what truly _had _been a near miss for the child that he'd opted to stalk back to work, rather than Apparate.

Which was why Hermione was across the street waving at him, brilliant smile and all. Severus scowled blackly and hunched his shoulders into the frock coat he still wore over his dress shirts when in the Wizarding world, along with the scarf – granted, the scarf was more sentiment now, rather than necessary. Perhaps it should suffer an accident? His heart clenched at the thought of destroying his gift and he curled his lip into a sneer.

She still crossed the bloody street.

Smiling.

At him.

At least she stopped waving.

"Severus!" Hermione pushed a tumble of hair from her face, looking closely at him. "Are you alright? Bad case at St Mungo's, was it?"

He tried to glare her down, but she was having none of it.

"Come to lunch with me? I've got an hour or more, I've been working late all week, and I could use a friendly face." Her smile was more concerned now, and she looped her arm through his elbow. He felt the heat of her through the wool and cotton and flesh, clear down to the bone.

"Wizarding or Muggle establishment?" she asked, walking him down the sidewalk.

He glanced down at her, sour. "Muggle it is, then. Do you mind a tea place? I'm trying to find a place with decent sandwiches and none of the bagged variety of tea, and there's a place I wanted to try about a block from here."

A shake of his head and she squeezed his arm before letting his arm go, pacing beside him with brief looks up through her eyelashes.

_Beautiful eyelashes, perfect for those eyes – **no, stop it. You've learned. You're not doing this again.** But she was so lovely, and, oh, Merlin, she was wearing a Muggle blouse, why didn't you notice before? Don't look down now, you'll see – and there they are. Sodding perfect. _

"I'm glad I get to have lunch with you," Hermione was saying and he strove to take his eyes from her -well, yes- and watch the pavement in front of him. "Harry's busy with training, did I tell you?"

Severus nodded, snarling soundlessly at a Muggle who jostled his arm.

"Apparently, his team's doing quite well – I admit, I go to the first game of the season, then I nod and smile when he tells me about it." She chewed her lips nervously, and apologised to an older woman she nearly bumped into as she watched his face. "Does that make me a bad friend? I do care if he's doing well, and if he's happy, I just don't retain the details – it's over here, Martha said, turn right, please? - and he does the same when I go on about my work...oh, thank God, it's not pastels and lace."

* * *

Tea had been...tolerable. If he could have considered it a first date, it would have been wonderful, for then it would have been alright to have thought about her lips and kisses, and wishing a button or two would just fly off her blouse. For all he'd nearly stared at her, he could not for the life of him remember what bloody _color_ her blouse was.

Just that soft, subtle curve of flesh. Oh, nothing racy. Nothing inappropriate (unless you countered his traitorous thoughts), just flesh and freckles and a light, lovely fragrance.

They'd sat, she'd ordered tea and sandwiches, glancing up at him for a swift nod when she chose correctly what he'd prefer, and then asked if he'd do the honors.

One Muffliato later, and he'd written out a brief synopsis of St Mungo's (no patient date, just the abysmal abilities of Smythe and Burnden), to which she'd laughed.

"Oh, god, that poor boy!" she said as she stirred cream into her cup and passed it to him. "I'm glad you could help, though...Mmm, tea's not bad. Not as good as the one you gave me. Rather churlish of you, giving me tea and not telling me where you found it."

The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile. _Out already?_

"I'm saving the last of it, now," she said conversationally. "Never know when I'll need a moment to relax and smile." She trailed off almost wistfully.

"We should have lunch more often. We can meet wherever you'd like, or take turns choosing. I don't mind what world we dine in -" _Muggle, preferably. Too many stares, not enough privacy, in ours. _"- but I miss spending time with my friends, and you in particular."

_Friends._ The word punched him in the gut almost painfully before he realised that he'd been singled out for special attention. His heart sang with ruthlessly squashed elation and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Ron's busy with work – did I tell you he's made it from Junior Auror to straight Auror now? He and Harry went out for pints last week to celebrate, and I ended up retrieving _both_ of their arses from a pub! But you... I talk to you the most, and I see you the least. It really isn't fair that my most constant companions are Crooks, your letters, and my parents."

* * *

Which was why in July he was threatening his nosy employer at wand point to return his recently-renewed mobile. It was _his. His_ conversations with Hermione, as mundane as they were, and their plans to meet again this week for lunch (Chinese this time, his choice), were _his _business. No one else's.

And _certainly _not the business of this puling little miscreant, employer or no! He could walk away anytime, they both knew it, and leave the business to flounder. He knew every recipe, had assisted in the development of half of them, and owned nearly a third of the rights in the first place.

* * *

Hermione was cracking open her fortune cookie as her mobile chimed. She glanced from the little slip of paper at him questioningly, but he shook his head. It was with what he hoped was an _annoyed_ sigh that she reached into her bag, odd little thing, beaten half to death, _and he did not love her, damn it, why are you so intrigued by even her reticule, for fuck's sake, _that held her mobile, pounds, a few galleons, a mirror, and some sort of gloss that made her lips gleam in the electric lights.

He wanted to lick it off her lips every time she applied it. She didn't need it, in his opinion. She was pretty enough. Perhaps a bit on the plain side, but she was _stunning_ to him and _I do __**not**__ love her..._

She rolled her eyes. "This is why I'm glad you have a mobile." She passed him the little gray device. "Harry has one, and he's picked up the _worst _habits."

_What. In the ever-living fuck. And in the name of the few things that are right in the world. Is this shite?_ He was appalled. He couldn't even _read_ it! It was a jumble of letters and symbols. Potter was proving himself to be an even bigger dolt than he'd originally surmised.

"I'm sorry, Severus, to cut our lunch early. I have to go." She handed him her half of the bill (she'd won that battle long ago. They could either take turns buying, or pay for half each).

He watched her go with something akin to pain as she ran off to Potter.

What the fuck did "D's bn arestd, cum help Lndn mpd" mean, anyway?

* * *

Ooh, two mysteries now.

Well, I think they're mysteries, in any case.

Who does Severus work for?

Who is D and what's happened? Gasp. (By the way, typing that was painful for me.)

Find out next time. Or not. *shrugs*

**PLEASE NOTE:** At the end of the month (in a week or so), I will most likely _not_ update any stories until some time in January. I'll try to knock this one out, since it _is_ a Christmas tale, mostly, but, just in case. :)


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, shape, or form, own the Harry Potter name, world, or characters. I'm just playing with them. If you think I actually get any form of monetary compensation for writing this, then I'd like you to realize you have a horrible case of the stupids. Go eat something nutritious, get some rest, then sign back online.

Author's Note: Huh. You know, I don't think I have much to say at the moment. Sorry...Tonight's song selection is, apparently, "The Ding Dong Song". Entirely inappropriate! Also, I fully admit to having an odd habit – when people in the story are making a face, I end up making that face while writing. Very entertaining. (This is why I wouldn't ever write in public.) I do the same while drawing.

* * *

**CHAPTER 6 – 2002 Part 2**

She had just...left.

To run off to Potter.

He watched her exit the restaurant door, her fortune cookie just sitting there, now, forlorn and still stuck in the broken treat, unread. For some absurd reason, reading the fortunes was her favorite part of having Chinese, she'd confided. And she defiled her tea by dipping the halves into it, leaving crumbs floating there that she claimed were barely noticeable – not that he'd ever given in to her smiles and urges to try it. She kept trying to get him to do it, and _he did not love her damn it,_ even when she tried to cajole him with her cookie, or the time she'd tried to dunk her cookie in _his _tea.

He was too busy staring at her plate and its lone cookie to notice her running back in.

"Sorry," Hermione said, and snagged her cookie, throwing herself back into her seat. "I am _**not**_ leaving until we're finished. It's just bloody Harry and his _bloody_ cousin... _we_ are having lunch."

_His cousin? Petunia's rotund little beach ball of a son he'd seen from the treeline at Lily's funeral? That spoiled little shit he'd seen in Potter's head?_

Hermione smiled at her fortune. "Ooh, a good one - 'Endurance and persistence will be rewarded.'"

Severus rolled his eyes. He was still trying to keep his heart from beating out of chest. His brain was barely managing to function – it was too busy chanting s_he came back she came back she came back she came back she came back she came back _ at him.

"I know, very Gryffindor – perfect for me." She stuck her tongue out at him and the other head joined in the chanting. Hermione dipped a piece of cookie in her tea and held it there, then put it on his plate. "Pretty please? Just one try?"

He looked at her, eyebrow raised.

"Fine, then." Hermione left it there. "I'll send you a letter later, then, yeah? Tell you all about what Harry wanted."

He snorted through his nose.

"Too bad, going to owl you anyway."

She bent and kissed his cheek swiftly, then took off again. He sat, blinking for a moment, then picked up that stupid wet fortune cookie from his plate with a glare as certain portions of anatomy slowly remembered to calm down, you're in public, thank you _very_ much.

He looked down at his own fortune, sighed, and ate the damn cookie. _Alright. I'm fond of her, I admit it._

_For now,_ sang his treacherous heart as he gathered up the bills she'd left towards lunch. The little scrap of paper with his fortune on it fluttered to the floor. _'The greatest war sometimes isn't on the battlefield, but against oneself', indeed. I already know I can be my own worst enemy. I don't need some sub-par biscuit to tell me that._

And her way of eating a fortune cookie hasn't half-bad.

But if asked, he'd deny it.

* * *

Merlin. God save him from pedagogical know-it-alls who, apparently, had retained both the knowledge and ability of how to dismay with a giant roll of parchment. Was this a letter or a bloody _essay_?!

_'Dear Severus - _

_I'm really sorry for almost skipping out on you today. My work reviews are constantly telling me that I get caught up in one idea or another and the next thing I know, I'm chasing after it. I'm sure you've noticed I do the same outside of work._

_I'm trying to change that habit, I'm sorry._

_As promised, the antics of Harry Potter and his cousin! Not that you really want to know, but you're both my friends, so you'd both getting get used to hearing about the other.'_

Merlin's knitted underpants, did she really talk to Potter and Weasley about him?

_'Don't worry – they don't get details. I know you're a private person. You get details, though. Next time Harry screws up you can write him a scathing missive. He'll be so happy to get correspondence from you he'll open it without even batting an eye._

…

_Don't do it, Severus, that's mean._

_Or at least not until he does something next._

_And don't goad him into it!_

_Where was I? Oh, right – apparently, Harry's gotten onto speaking terms with his cousin. As it turns out, Dudley's the reason Harry even has a mobile, can you believe it? Not sure who's to blame for Harry's atrocious texting habits – Dudley for teaching them to him, or Harry for falling into them. Either way, it's ghastly, honestly._

_Long story short, Dudley was arrested in London, and Harry wanted me with my "shiny law learnings" to come help get him out. (I swear, I wish he'd gone into the Aurors with Ron, instead of taking up professional Quidditch, if only so he'd have learned the basics...like, you don't need a lawyer to pay bail.) _

_Some sleaze found out Dudley's Harry Potter (The Boy Who Lived)'s cousin. And dumped something into his drink at some pub. Made him hallucinate something awful and he was running around acting like a complete nutter. _

_At least he had the good sense to call **Harry**, and not his mum. I've heard she's awful'_ – Severus huffed in agreement. 'Frigid bitch' was more accurate but less polite. - _'so Harry's now got Ron investigating. Since he's a Muggle but is **aware** of the Wizarding world there's practically no penalty, which is actually a really bad precedent, as you could guess._

_Like the thing with the Mermish seaweed claims from last year, remember?_

_There I go again, off topic._

_I've just come back from my mum and dad's. I've given them a warning about odd people pulling funny business – just a prank, I suppose, from one point of view, but it's not bloody funny to me. If you've got any neighbors or extended family, you may want to warn them, too. It occurs to me, I've never asked. Do you? If not, you can borrow my Uncle Tim. He's completely barmy; he's really my great-great uncle, old as dirt, and lives in a home somewhere south. I don't remember him well._

_You could share my parents, too, if you'd like. My mum just got her first new job with her new degree, did I tell you? She's done a bit of a career change since Australia.' _Merlin, the girl's letter was as long as some of her school papers. And there was _more_, what the fuck, Hermione.

'_You should meet her, you might find it interesting. _

_In any case – the rest of the parchment is blank. Thought I'd give you a bit of a scare. Hah!_

_Love,_

_Hermione'_

Severus set the scroll down, shaking his head at her impudence, and went to use the loo.

Then promptly dashed out of it ten seconds later, pants undone, to grasp at the parchment and stare at that last bit with wild eyes.

'_Love,  
Hermione'_

_Love?_

* * *

He hadn't said anything to her about the last bit of her letter. It was probably just a fluke after her day with _Potter _and her evening with her parents, and he'd only written back briefly to assure her that any neighbors were strictly Muggles, and he had no family to speak of, and that, no, he would not send Potter any verbally abusive missives in the near future unless they were well-deserved.

And work was mad, getting ready, apparently, for the back-to-Hogwarts rush, not that most of the items would get through Filch. But the real madness was that he was _supposed_ to refill the stock of love philtres.

Like. Hell.

When he'd agreed to work here, that had been one of the stipulations – He would brew no love potions of any variety. No one would know he worked here until _he_ approved it (so far that list consisted strictly of his employer). He would maintain the percentage of profits from the existing formulas using his work that he'd had to begin with, but all new products he designed or assisted to design, he would receive half the profits. And all the patent paperwork would have his name buried.

Merlin help him if the Wizarding world found out _Severus Snape _ worked for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

He scowled at George and flicked his wand at the blackboard they'd set up for this purpose. They'd been arguing about this for several minutes.

**I will not brew it, Weasley** the chalk wrote out in spiky handwriting.

"Sure you will! They're one of our best sellers!" George was grinning good-naturedly at him, like he was just going to cave.

**We went over this last year. And the year before, when you _hired_ me. I will not brew that shite. It's your bloody recipe, you can damn well brew it.**

"C'mon, Snape, it's just this year."

He wiped the chalkboard clean and wrote across it in large letters **Go fuck yourself.**

"Merlin, you could be a little nicer."

Severus crossed his arms over his chest and stared down his nose at him.

"Bloody hell, that still works on me," the redhead muttered. "Fine. Be that way."

_Fine, I will._

"I will say, I'm glad you don't shout. Fred and I would get into all sorts of shouting matches, used to rattle the windows, once we got started." George gave him a sad smile.

Severus rolled his eyes and flicked his wand again. **You know full well that you will get no _pity_ from me.**

"Was worth a shot. Least _you_ don't gab my ear off!" George ducked the subsequent hex, but not the eraser. "Oh, sod off, it's a joke, mate!"

Severus shot him the bird.

* * *

Hours later, he headed up to the office to inform his employer that he was leaving. Nearing the door, he heard voices, and he paused to listen. _Old habits die hard_.

He was talking to himself again. Well, his reflection, he amended. George kept a full-length mirror in his office, and would occasionally go on binges where he'd 'talk to Fred'. Sometimes it was an idea-bouncing session, sometimes, like now, it was maudlin and he could be hardly understood through the crying.

_Oh, bloody hell._

Two Apparitions, two self-powered flights, a note to Hagrid for the loan of a niffler, and a bit of digging later, he was outside of his employers door again with another slip of paper and a vial of Sober-Up.

He knocked.

Once.

Twice.

"What do you want, Shnape?" George's voice was slurred.

He handed him the note, written as large and clearly as possible.

"'Take...thish...poshon' – poshon?, oh a Shober-Up? - 'and you have thurty minnits and I'm taking it back'. Takin' whut back?" he leaned heavily against the door frame.

Severus snarled and grabbed him, forcibly pouring the potion down his throat. _Drink it, you sorry bastard._

George spluttered as it took effect and he regained sobriety. Severus pressed something into his palm and rotated his finger thrice, then displayed his pocket watch. _Thirty minutes, Mister Weasley._

* * *

Thirty-one minutes. Thirty-two.

At thirty-three, he heaved himself off his brewing stool and headed for the door.

"No need," George said hoarsely, opening it. He looked haggard and grieved, but surprisingly better. More whole, somehow. "Here."

Severus plucked the Resurrection Stone from his hand and shoved it into his pocket, watching his employer impassively.

"Thank you. I just – thank you. He...I mean...Oh, bugger all, hex me later."

* * *

Hugged.

By a Weasley. Merlin, he'd managed to avoid _Molly _for over twenty years, and she attempted to adopt him and stuff him with food at least once a year. It was a point of _pride _to have escaped that long.

He would never live it down. How hot could he get his shower at home? He'd get revenge, somehow.

Severus landed in the Forbidden Forest once more (why the wards kept out brooms but not a single man eluded him), and hesitated only briefly before tossing the damn rock into the forest once more. _And stay there._

* * *

There will be a 2002, Part 3, I swear :)

Well done to those who guessed Dudley! I bet Petunia has NO idea he's in contact with Harry, bwa ha. Bad Dursley! Oh well. And that was surprisingly sweet of Severus. I think Hermione's rubbing off on him.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, shape, or form, own the Harry Potter name, world, or characters. I'm just playing with them. If you think I actually get any form of monetary compensation for writing this, then I'd like you to realize you have a horrible case of the stupids. Go eat something nutritious, get some rest, then sign back online.

Author's Note: Huh. You know, I don't think I have much to say at the moment. Sorry...Tonight's song selection is, apparently, "The Ding Dong Song". Entirely inappropriate! Also, I fully admit to having an odd habit – when people in the story are making a face, I end up making that face while writing. Very entertaining. (This is why I wouldn't ever write in public.) I so the same while drawing. ,. Also, sometimes you may notice I update the same chapter more than once in a night. I don't have a beta. I'm sorry. I fail completely on my own, so if you find an error, please, by all means. Point it out so I can fix it! :-D

* * *

**CHAPTER 7 – 2002 Part 3**

In August, Hermione owled him to apologise, that she wouldn't be able to make their lunches that month – one of the other people in her department was leaving, and they wanted her to fill the role. She was going to be stuck in training and lunch meetings with the current clients to let them get to know her, etc.

But she kept writing him, and she never gave up texting him to meet her for a pint. He kept declining, and she still signed her letters "love". Every single one had found its way into a hollow book on his nightstand.

Maybe he liked her. A little. He was certainly _fond _of her, no matter how much his heart insisted that it was _love._

Alright, so he liked her a great deal. But she was his friend and he really didn't want to bollocks it up.

But he missed her.

He should probably accept that invite for a pint. He didn't drink much, but he'd be able to see her. And a pub would be impersonal, like their lunches. Yes, a pub. For a pint after work. Like friends.

Just friends.

Maybe he'd accept next time.

Maybe.

* * *

In September it snowed, and she showed up to lunch with a red nose and flushed cheeks with which he found himself completely entranced. Her eyes sparkled and she was entirely too cheerful about the weather. He selfishly wished that she was so happy to see _him_, not the bloody snow. That, and the weather meant the blouses with their distracting gaps and the curve of her collarbones and bosom were now hidden from view with sweaters and scarves. Pity, that.

She wanted him to meet her mother for some reason, but wouldn't tell him why. Merlin only knew. Maybe it was about his teeth – weren't they dentists? Too bad, his teeth were fine as they were, and if he wanted to change them, well, that was what _magic_ was for. Maybe she just liked her parents to know her friends, but that thought made him wince because he'd realise just how _young_ she was. Hermione was mature and poised, and then passionate when she'd get on a tear about her current cases. Something about the groundwork for house elf rights, but she'd had a tiny bit of cream from her chocolate in the corner of her mouth, and he was entirely too distracted to think.

All in all, it was nice to have a friend again. His employer was avoiding him, mostly, but seemed overall in a better frame of mind – just expecting his revenge. And, oh, he had an excellent one planned.

Hermione invited him to her birthday party. In fact, she insisted on it. Weasley had somehow met the (annoyingly maternal) woman who worked the desk across the hall from Hermione's, at the registry office for newborns. The girl was a rather curvy, cheerful witch in her twenties by the name of Martha, and the rather amusing last name of Poppins and stocked biscuits by the dozen at her desk.

Hermione confided she'd been thankful for Luna Lovegood's oddness, because it meant she'd been able to avoid laughing the witch's face. He'd enjoyed a smirk at the name. Just because he dwelt in the Wizarding world didn't mean he'd entirely let the Muggle one pass by, and was aware of the films and music and technology used.

_Know thy enemy_, he supposed. Even if it wasn't so much an _enemy_, as it had been a potential place to run.

Still, it was funny.

* * *

She'd nagged him into coming, he told himself as he prepared to Apparate to her flat. But that didn't explain how he'd gotten her to agree to let him cook her dinner before the party as her present. He still _had _a present for her but had decided to wait until Christmas, and ostensibly was going to cook only because it was her birthday, she was his friend, and if they were going to the pub to meet Potter and Weasley and whoever else she'd invited, then he'd bloody well make sure she'd eaten first.

Because he was fond of her.

* * *

By the end of the night, he was wondering why no one's protested his presence – they'd been polite and cordial and he'd stayed to himself, mostly. Martha was annoyingly sweet and solicitous, and adored Weasley. In his cups, Potter was proclaiming his apparently perennial goal to find the perfect ring for Ginny Weasley, who would simply giggle and try to get him to snog, and, oh, how he wished he could take points now. Longbottom refrained from toppling over more than once at the sight of him, and Lovegood was an absolutely hysterical drunk.

Sometime after her third glass of wine, Hermione sat down next to him and sighed. "My mum and dad aren't coming."

He raised an eyebrow and looked aside at her, away from his mobile.

"They were going to try to come, and would ring me when they got here, so I could bring them in." _Makes sense, Muggles wouldn't see a Wizarding establishment on their own. _Hermione sighed again and leaned her head on his shoulder.

He froze. She was leaning against him, warm and sweet-smelling and lovely, eyes closed and lips parted, cheeks flushed.

"Severus?"

He looked down at her. She must have felt the movement for she tilted her head back and smiled at him. "I'm glad you're here...it wouldn't have been the same without you, you know."

Hermione yawned, thankfully covering her mouth. He'd never been overly fond of white wine.

"I'm sorry to impose, but... Mum and Dad were going to get me home after... would you mind Apparating me? I rarely drink this much; I don't think I can do it without Splinching myself, and I really don't want to risk the tube."

The muscle under his eye twitched at the mere thought. An inebriated Hermione on the Muggle tube at this time? No. He nodded and sent her a message.

'Let me know when.'

She smiled and squeezed his hand. "Thanks, Severus. I don't know what I'd do without you, you know."

Then she rose and made her tipsy way back to the others, giggling when she bounced off a table. He watched her go with a curious mix of heartache and concern as she hugged Longbottom and Lovegood – at once – and managed to pretend not to be too tipsy to say goodbye to Weasley and his date. She managed to interrupt Potter and Miss Weasley long enough to get them to wave, then wove her way over to him.

"Sorry," she said, kissing his cheek before smiling at him with those glazed eyes. "Let's go home, Severus."

He rose, offering her his elbow, and she looped her arm through it and leaned against his shoulder again. He really couldn't remember the last time someone had trusted him like that, and it gave him pause. So trusting, so lovely. He'd bring her home safe, make sure she drank a glass of water, and he'd leave her one of the vials of Sober-Up in his pocket.

* * *

That had been the plan, in any case. Escort her safely home like a gentleman (no one had ever been able to accuse him of uncouth manners), hydrate her to ensure she'd rise able to function for work in the morning, ward her door, and see himself out.

And avoid her bedroom. On his previous visits, he'd managed to eschew the 'grand tour', as she'd called it. He had enough trouble controlling certain urges around her that he didn't need to be able to imagine her laying in bed with any further degree of accuracy.

No sooner had he landed them safely in her apartment than she had paled and clapped a hand over her mouth, bolting for the washroom.

"Perhaps Apparition was a bad idea," she called a moment later in a weak voice. He felt like _fidgeting_. He _hated_ to fidget. It was unproductive. A large orange cat rose from its spot by the fire and wound its way to him. It meowed in a quavery tone, and inspected him in that way only felines can.

_Cat._ He inclined his head towards it warily. Oh, he remembered this beast. Not just from Hogwarts, but from her conversations with him. He knew the bloody thing was apt to want to claw the belongings and appendages of strangers. On his previous visits, she'd locked the cat in her bedroom, just in case.

Crookshanks watched him warily, tail twitching. It looked at him, then at the bathroom door. Then back to him. _Oh, sod off. I'm not going to let anything happen to her, furball. _Then the damn thing began a rumbling purr and began rubbing against his legs.

"That's odd," Hermione voiced shakily. She was still pale, but seemed to have sobered a bit. "Crooks doesn't like most people." She smiled wanly at him and headed for the kitchen. "Welcome to the select few."

_The 'select few' means it's shedding its bloody hair all over my fucking trousers._

"I know a good charm for cat hair, don't worry...Sorry, I've never Apparated after drinking before. Usually it's a pint and I'm done, or a single glass of wine, or a Butterbeer..." she took a sip of her water cautiously. "Any more than that and I'll hail a cab or Mum and Dad will drive me home."

He felt strangely awkward, just standing there, cat winding 'tween his feet and Hermione watching him. He should just go, leave now, they'd both have work in the morning...

"Would you like a glass of water?"

He nodded. _He nodded. _Obviously the wrong organ was doing the thinking and wanted him to stay. _Don't leave_, sang his heart. _Stay a little longer._

Severus sat down on her sofa, and the bloody cat jumped to his lap and curled up. Somewhere between water and Hermione going to open her cards from the party on the sofa next to him, they ended with the telly on and her head on his lap next to the cat, asleep. He was fairly certain she'd only lain down to pet the beast, who'd decided this was his new spot and would not be budged without threatening the integrity of Severus's trousers.

But now she was asleep, facing the telly, one arm under her, the other across his knees and buried in the fur of the purring cat. He could smell her shampoo, and the toothpaste or mouthwash she'd used earlier, and feel the warmth of her. It was...nice. He nearly cringed at the mere thought of the word.

Cautiously, he placed a hand on her curls. They were soft. He tested the spring of one carefully. Boing. His lips twitched in a small smirk, and he did it again. Boing. Crookshanks opened one eye and looked at him. On impulse, he dangled a curl by the cat's face, but he just curled his head under his paw and went back to sleep. Boing.

With a sigh, Severus stroked a hand down Hermione's hair and leaned his head back against the sofa. He couldn't bring himself to wake her.

* * *

It was a week later, and he was still thinking about the night of Hermione's birthday. She'd been embarrassed the next morning to find man and cat still on her sofa, and had graciously offered him breakfast (accepted) and a muscle-relaxing ointment for his neck (refused – he couldn't risk her hands on him, not when he'd woken grateful for the cat on his lap and was afraid he'd want to pull her to him and kiss her.).

And it hadn't seemed to have bollocksed anything up, he mused, stirring twice clockwise, thrice anti-clockwise, and adding a surreptitious pinch of lavender to the brew.

She still owled him. She still sent him a text message, and they'd still met for lunch.

_Alright. So I am possibly, probably, in love with her._

* * *

Chapter 8 will be 2002 - part 4. Why are these two so stubborn?


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, shape, or form, own the Harry Potter name, world, or characters. I'm just playing with them. If you think I actually get any form of monetary compensation for writing this, then I'd like you to realize you have a horrible case of the stupids. Go eat something nutritious, get some rest, then sign back online.

Author's Note: You know, trying to pack, clean the house, work, wrap gifts, write Christmas cards, and finish this story may mean it doesn't get done in time. _I'm trying. I promise. _Also, the past few Dove candies I've unwrapped have wanted me to share. Fuck you, chocolate. You're MINE.

* * *

**CHAPTER 8 – 2002 Part 4**

September ended without incident, and they settled further into a routine – lunch at least once a week, he was cagey about his job, she told him everything about hers, and he longed to rip the scarf from her lovely neck and kiss her.

He started to accept every other invite for a pint, and the first time he'd come, she'd been so delighted that she'd thrown her arms around him in a hug. At first he'd stiffened at the shock of it – she would touch him, but hugs were rare, to be treasured – and then he'd _stiffened_ and had had to pull away lest she realise the extent of his reaction. If she'd been hurt by his retreat, she hadn't shown it; Hermione just smiled at him and gave him space. He did give her a smile back, one of those small little curves of his mouth that only she received. He hadn't _wanted _to pull away. Being embraced by Hermione was pleasant.

Alright, _more_ than pleasant. But she didn't need to know that. He was 42 for fuck's sake, and while it wasn't old for a wizard, and after living primarily in that world for the vast majority of his life the knowledge of their age gap didn't bother him. That she had been his student didn't bother him – he'd certainly never thought of her _that_ way while she'd been his student, so there was no guilt over it (besides, at this point, the list of people who had been his students was quite long). What _did_ bother him was his reaction and inexperience to control it.

It wasn't appropriate, because even if he _was _(and he probably was, he admitted to himself) in love with her, there was no way in hell she'd love him back. He was too... well, he knew what he looked like and his temperament.

All the same, he'd begun having dreams of her. They were hazy, indistinct, but he still woke aching and edgy. The frigid temperatures of October water pipes were keeping things in check. He had no desire to cheapen any sort of emotional attachment to the woman for purely physical fulfillment.

No matter how much he wanted to.

* * *

Finally, he'd worked at this bloody shop long enough for his neighbors to think he'd have savings built up. He had a great deal of money, actually. Between inheritance (being the last of a bloodline was actually worth something, in the end), investments Lucius and now Draco had made for him, private patents on Potions, some spellwork, working at Hogwarts (tenure, having practically no living expenses 2/3 of the year, and nearly all his Potions ingredients paid for by the school), and his -_sigh-_ work with Weasley's Wheezes. He'd been receiving profit fees since the year after that idiotic Triwizard Cup Albus had insisted on holding despite his own vehement input not to do so; every year, his income went up. And now his name was on _all_ of the patents. He was already set for a very, very long life.

He just didn't spend much, did not have expensive tastes. He lived alone, and after a few years at Hogwarts had completed repairs and a few updates to his house. Severus couldn't be bothered to move, he actually _liked_ a great deal of things Muggle, as well as the anonymity of the neighborhood. Anyone looking for a Wizard would take one look at the drab, dingy row houses and leave. He'd never expected to survive the war, so his will would have donated everything to Hogwarts, his godson, and some of the money to a group for battered women that had tried repeatedly to aid his mother. And the box of photographs and other odds and ends he'd forgotten he'd had from Lily – those would have gone to Potter. If he thought about it, he should bag them and call it a – he sneered to himself – _Christmas_ present. They had no monetary value, and while his feelings towards the dead woman wouldn't change (he'd still love her, but that didn't mean he was incapable of moving onwards if he chose), he didn't need the physical reminders. They'd be worth more to her son.

His money now went to towards Potions ingredients, books, food, the few bills he did still have (he paid his electric properly, thank you. It would be noticed if no one came 'round to check _his _meter, especially now he was charging a mobile), and the mobile.

Perhaps it was that little device, or the woman who'd gifted it to him, that made him want to remake his home a little. Nothing drastic. No tearing down of walls or repainting of the brick, and he didn't give a niffler's arse about the yard - just the inside.

It was depressing. Hermione's flat was...warm. Cheering. Maybe he wouldn't desire to sit in her home with her quite so often if his own was more inviting.

Severus's home had dark walls (the paper had faded and he'd just never cared to replace it), and dark woods with little to no personal touches. All of his furniture was, well, old. He was fairly certain he hadn't replaced any of the pieces his parents had had, including the bed with the sagging springs and the lumpy armchair.

He should probably update the kitchen, too. Maybe he could invite Hermione over for dinner and – _no._ He squashed that thought firmly. Don't think about it, don't hope for it. Dreaming about her was one thing. Dreaming of a life with Hermione in his waking hours was hopeless and he shouldn't indulge in it.

Even if he wanted it so badly he could nearly _taste _it.

Severus sighed and got to work.

* * *

It had only taken him a week to refit the kitchen and bathroom, and he'd decided to leave the wooden bookshelves alone. He _liked_ natural wood, and it would just get darker as it kept aging, at any rate. The furniture he replaced, however. The armchair, the sofa, the kitchen set, the bedrooms...all of it.

He even added _curtains_ – blackout ones, to keep any Muggles from looking in and potentially seeing something they shouldn't. He doubted he would draw them for any reason, but they didn't fuck up his living room. All in all, his house was looking more and more... like a home. The fact he'd chosen colors similar to those Hermione had chosen was purely a coincidence, he told himself. White walls were easy to paint. Deep browns were easily obtained and would not show drips and drops. A muted sage green went well with the deep goldenrod. It was...better. Neutral and pleasing the eye. He would be able to invite – _no, no, we are __**not**__ going there. You've learned this the hard way_, he reminded himself viciously. It was useless. Ever since he began this endeavor, both body and brain were attempting to betray him.

He was in the middle of levitating his bureau back into place when his mobile vibrated in his pocket. He landed it against the wall where it bloody well belonged, then flicked his wand at the items that usually lay atop it. They flew into place with not even the slightest clatter, and he felt smug about his nonverbal spell-casting abilities.

Severus flipped open his phone to see what Hermione wanted – it was unusual for her to message him during the day unless they had already planned to have lunch. It was too late in the evening for him to have somehow forgotten about a meeting with her, and too early for her to ask about meeting for pints...

Frowning, he looked at the screen. It made no sense. Just a jumble. _Has Potter gotten her to text like an imbecile now, as well? _

The phone actually _rang_, and he was so surprised by the unexpected event (it _never _rang) that he'd dropped it and had nearly hexed into a smoking ruin on his newly-conjured carpet before he realised Hermione was calling him. _Calling_ him. _What the fuck does she think she's doing?_

He pushed the previously-unused 'talk' button and exhaled loudly. _Foolish woman, you know I can't bloody well answer you._

"I'm sorry." Hermione's voice was cracking and shaky; his brows drew together in concern. "Severus, I'm sorry for ringing you, I just..."

She broke into sobs. "Crooks, something's wrong with him, I think... oh, please, Severus, I'm so sorry...would you come over? I don't know who else to call and - " She choked on a shuddering breath, but he was already turning into himself, vaguely wondering what Apparition would do to a mobile in use even as he snapped it shut.

* * *

No sooner had he popped into her living room, mobile falling with a clatter, than he found his arms full of sobbing witch, staggering at the sudden contact. Hermione was shaking and he cautiously wrapped his arms around her, pressing his cheek to the top of her head.

Scanning the main area of the flat for her cat, he saw the pile of orange fluff on a ridiculously large pillow by the fireplace. _What's wrong with the bloody cat? _He watched it for a while, an ugly suspicion in his mind. He dearly wished he was wrong, but the half-Kneazle wasn't breathing. There was no motion on the fur, and_ any _sort of familiar would have been seeking out their witch if they were in such distress, _especially_ one with Kneazle blood.

How old was Crookshanks? Severus wasn't certain – he knew she'd had the cat for 9 nine years; at least, she'd brought the fully-grown beast – _feline, _he corrected himself – to Hogwarts in her third year. She must have acquired it before then. Crookshanks must have been older than that, he reasoned, stroking Hermione's hair as she sobbed, curling her fingers into his shirt.

He simply stood there, holding her until she began to hiccup. Severus shh'd her quietly and guided her to the sofa with no small amount of difficulty. Hermione kept trying to talk to him, but he simply shushed her. _You're not going to be able to speak until you've finished crying, anyway. Just cry._

He nuzzled his cheek against her curls, marveling at how, for once, he could hold her without the rush of desire. Just the need to comfort, to let her know he was there and that she was allowed to grieve for her familiar. After all, she'd rung him.

She'd rung him. Severus let that sink in a moment as it struck him. She'd _rung_ him – her message had been unclear because of her emotional turmoil, and what had she said? '_I don't know who else to call'_. Oh, Merlin help him, he'd been her first call. Not Potter, not Weasley, not her parents, not a Patronus to Molly and Arthur or the Lovegood girl – she'd called _him_.

In that moment - with her feline departed from this life, and her grief so raw, her heart wounded as a little piece of her world was broken beyond repair - it struck him how utterly stubborn he'd been, and he pressed a single kiss to the top of her head. He loved her so dearly, and he would do anything and everything in his power to make her smile again.

* * *

It was slightly awkward, sitting on the sofa at that angle for so long, holding her against him between his legs, sliding his fingers through those lovely curls. She was quieter now, shuddering breaths between quiet hiccuping sobs. _Oh, Hermione, how I wish this wasn't so._

"I'm sorry," she mumbled quietly into the scarf 'round his neck, and he lifted his head from hers to look down at her curiously. _There's nothing to be sorry for, Hermione. _Fingers curled tighter into his shirt, and her voice was thick with grief. "I just sort of threw myself at you, and I know you don't like when people get in your personal space, and here I am practically _laying _on you - "

She made to push up, but he simply held her tighter and pressed a second awkward kiss to her curls. Hermione gave a shaky laugh and curled closer to him in response. "I'm still sorry, you know."

He shrugged. He knew loss and grief, and did not mind providing some measure of comfort to her. They sat quietly for some time, and he just waited. Telling him what happened to her familiar (besides the blatantly obvious) could wait. The fire crackled a bit

"I came home and..." her breath hitched. "He was fine. Just sleeping, so I started the fire, and he meowed and he licked my hand... he doesn't usually, but it was just a little one and I thought maybe I'd just had my hand too close..."

Severus shushed her again and inhaled slowly. The feline had been saying good-bye, he realized, then scowled as his fingers got snagged in her hair. Hermione giggled and sat up. "Sorry, Severus..."

Carefully, she extracted his hand from the mass she called curls and he gave her the tiniest of smiles. Hermione was not pretty when she cried. Her nose got red (it did not run, thankfully, he was certain he would have been repulsed had she trailed snot on him), her face puffy and cheeks blotchy...but she was still somehow beautiful to him.

"I got Crooks his food," she gestured vaguely towards the kitchen, "but when I came back...nothing. He... he wasn't breathing, and - "

She choked again, and more tears fell. She tried to wipe them away angrily. "God! I thought I was done crying about this!"

_It's grief_, he wanted to tell her. _It'll rise up and consume you when you least expect it. Until you are able to accept the pain, to let it wash over you without falling into it, this will continue. _Wandlessly, he Summoned a pen and paper from her kitchen, grateful when the items came whizzing around the corner. He'd remembered where she kept them, then.

_Your familiar cared for you_. He wrote. _And it will hurt for a long while to come. But you can be glad he was home, and not alone._ He handed the pad of paper to her.

Hermione cried harder, dripping tears down her nose and onto the paper, and the ink ran. "I don't know what to do now, Severus... Do I.. do I bury him? How can I _sleep _here, knowing that he – he...I'm sorry – I'm going to use the washroom, I'm sorry..."

She nearly bolted from the sofa and he sighed. Wonderful, she'd cried herself sick. He was no good at comfort. He picked her mobile up from the coffee table, and scrolled through the numbers. His was first. In fact, she'd listed a '1' in front of his name to keep it that way. His heart raced a little faster at the thought, and he tried not to be hopeful.

'_Dad-office, no...Harry – no way in hell am I contacting Potter, even for her... Mum - center, whatever that means no...Mum Dad – home, no... Mum mobile,...yes!_' Severus glanced towards the washroom door and ignored the sounds therein, and sent a text.

"Pardon, Mrs. Granger, but I believe your daughter would benefit from your presence. Her familiar has passed away, and she is quite distraught."

"Who is this?" Ah, so Hermione took after her mum, then. Always the questions, never getting to the bloody point...

"Her friend – she has literally cried herself sick." Oh, typing that he was her friend hurt, now that he had admitted to himself that he wanted much more than that.

"You must be Severus, then." Hermione'd spoken of him to her parents? The mobile buzzed again and he opened the new message. "I can be there in an hour, will you stay with her?"

He didn't even hesitate. "Always."

* * *

He knocked on the washroom door some time later; the sounds had stopped a while ago. Waited.

He knocked again, more loudly.

Waited.

Testing the handle, it didn't give and he rolled his eyes. _Merlin, save me from overwrought witches._ He frowned at the lock. _Alohomora._

Clicking, the lock retracted and he opened the door slowly, trying to give her as much time as possible to speak and tell him to stop. No such reaction was forthcoming, and when the door cleared, he could see why. She was exhausted, and had fallen asleep clutching the rim of the loo. _Oh, Hermione..._his heart ached for her. At least she'd flushed the bloody thing so he didn't have to see it.

After all, the whole point to assigning detentions had been so he wouldn't have to do all that prep work. It wouldn't have done for them to realise the Potions Master was just a touch squeamish.

He shook her shoulder, and she merely made a moue with her lips and snuggled the damn seat. _Oh no, you don't, you little reprobate. _He cast a freshening charm on her mouth; he didn't give a fuck if her parents _were_ dentists. The damn charms worked just as well. He pondered it, then cleansed her face, as well. Tear tracks were unbecoming and as clean as she kept her home, it was still unsanitary.

With a soft grunt, he managed to pick her up in his arms, cradled to his chest, and was surprised when she murmured sleepily and wound her arms around his neck. Severus sighed and held her closer, wrangling his burden out the door and across the hall to her bedroom. She wasn't heavy, per se, not after a lifetime of moving cauldrons and supplies and trekking about, and he was by no means a muscled man, it was just awkward to get her through the doorway without knocking her into the frames.

Or the photographs from the wall, or the brush from her bedside table, or..._let go of my neck, you tenacious little -!_ Alas, in trying to place Hermione on the rumpled bed, she'd not let go, and at this point in time, he was expecting a laughing Potter and Weasley to jump out of her closet, saying what a grand prank it all was, that the cat was a stuffed dummy, he'd fallen for it...

But there was no mockery forthcoming. No pranksters leaping from the confines of the flat. Just an exhausted witch who'd latched onto a source of warmth and comfort, he told himself. _Hermione Granger would not set anyone up for such a thing, except that vile toad_, he reminded himself. Truly, the stunt with the centaurs had been brilliant and he'd laughed for weeks when no one could see.

Sighing, he gave up trying to place her on the bed, and instead lay down with her beside him. At least this way he wouldn't end up strangled. Suffocated by hair, possibly, but not strangled.

And even if it was just for a short while, he'd be able to hold her in his arms. He never meant to fall asleep.

* * *

His first thought was that someone was watching him. He'd trained himself for years to wake ready and there was no miss in his breathing, nothing to betray he was awake.

Cloth descended on him – the blanket from the foot of the bed, he surmised, and he opened his eyes cautiously.

"Shh, she's still asleep," the woman who could _only _be Mrs. Granger whispered, reaching for the duvet. "You'll never get her to let go at this point, unless you're hiding a crowbar." The duvet settled over him and he frowned at the woman who looked a great deal like her daughter.

"I moved your wand to the bedside table, love, and I'll take poor Crooks away for her. He was quite old, I think." It was odd, being talked to in such a way by a woman he'd never met. Mrs. Granger flicked off the light. "Have a good rest, then. I'll leave a note for Hermione in the morning."

The hall light clicked off; Severus heard the shuffling of items, then the click of the lock as he felt Hermione's wards fall smoothly back into place. A mumbled "G'night, mummy" came from the witch in his arms.

Then Hermione inhaled slowly and sighed out "_Severus..._"

Heart pounding at the soft, trusting tone she'd said _his _name in, he pressed his lips to her forehead and held her closer. He was fairly certain that it was the first time he'd ever been tucked into bed by a mother. It was...surreal. And yet...

Severus closed his eyes, strangely comforted and at peace despite it all.

* * *

It was two weeks later, and while the morning after Crookshanks's passing had been somewhat awkward, with both of them self-conscious (Hermione, for having basically dragged him into bed and her open display of emotion. Himself, for waking in her bed and having to be exceedingly grateful for being the first to wake and calm his morning...reactions.), but she had given him wan smile, and squeezed his hand from across the breakfast table in gratitude.

He'd seen her a few times since, at their lunches, and once at pints, when she'd cried into hers and he'd cut her off from a second, but overall, she was looking fine. Much improved, in any case. She didn't seem to be neglecting her meals, or her sleep.

Severus was an entirely different matter. He'd begun dreaming more frequently; it was as if admitting his feelings to himself and then holding her body in his arms, pressed against his had given his brain some bloody signal to start dreaming about Hermione. In great detail. Oh, yes. Each dream left him hard. _Aching_. Positively throbbing, to the point of pain and _needing_ to release.

Apparently, his mind was quite inventive, what with years of interrupting adolescents and meticulous research under his belt. And not only did it keep him up at night, it kept him _up_ at night. Bloody inconvenient, and he was _sick _of it.

November passed, with Severus continuously longing and lusting after his friend, and he found it a supremely annoying parallel. He decided to never say anything to Hermione about his amorous feelings towards her, not unless he knew it would be reciprocated.

_What do you have to lose?_ his heart mocked.

_Everything, _his mind would reply, and his hands would falter mid-stir, or he'd pause before plugging the little mobile into the wall, and twice he'd caught himself nearly cancelling their lunch meetings. He felt like a masochist – being so near to her, knowing he was too old, too dark, too ugly for such a youthful, vibrant, beautiful woman was painful; knowing she would never love him in return was like a knife twisting in his chest and stomach. And yet, being apart from her, knowing she would still smile at him, kiss his cheek, touch his hand, embrace him, talk to him...the thought of never seeing her again made his heart wish to cease beating instead.

* * *

A week before Christmas, Severus was toying with the edge of his napkin at lunch when Hermione abruptly asked him, "Severus, how good is your memory?"

He gave her the most derisive look he could manage. _Hermione – you know me. I can read and retain as well as you. I was a bloody fucking spy, I retain every bit of trivia you drop in mentioning...you know full well how good my memory is._

She grinned sheepishly as him and bit at the corner of her lip. "Sorry, stupid question."

_Indeed._

"So... I want an answer by...well, your birthday. Okay?"

_An answer to what, Hermione?_

"Watch -" and she held moved her fingers in an odd little dance. Pausing in between bouncing and twisting and moving. "I don't think you'll need by your birthday, but that will give you time to think about it."

Severus frowned at her. _A bloody puzzle? And that's all your giving me as a clue?_

Hermione just smiled at him shyly and took another sip of tea.

* * *

It was Christmas Eve, time for the bloody fucking party, and he _still_ had no idea where to start. He'd gone far enough to pull the memory and watch it over and over until he had those bloody hands of hers memorized. He could see it in his sleep (which continued to be disturbed, and he'd given into a little hands-on relief), he could see it when he closed his eyes.

No amount of glaring at her during any subsequent meeting had garnered him any aid. She'd just given him a secret smile and changed the subject.

He was _frustrated_ and stumped and he hated every fucking minute of it.

And yet, he still put on a deep green jumper, placed the shrunken parcels in his pocket, looped his scarf around his neck, and was about to walk out his door to the Apparition point he used by the park when someone knocked on his bloody door.

Snarling, he yanked the door open, then reeled back in shock.

* * *

Grudgingly, he trudged through the snow to his point. If he simply disappeared every day, sooner or later someone would notice something. But walking down to the park towards the shops? No one noticed him.

But, _Merlin_, it'd been odd to open his door to find Petunia-fucking-Dursley on his step. She hadn't even been certain he still lived there – and obviously had no _idea_ her son was in constant contact with Potter, since that had been her reason for coming there. They'd been near to see Marge for the hols, she'd said, and she'd wondered if he was still there and if he knew about Potter and how to get in touch with him so she'd taken the car on pretense of seeing the "old neighborhood, for nostalgia's sake".

Of course, she'd gotten snippy when he hadn't answered. But seeing her stagger backwards with a gasp after he'd pulled the scarf from his neck with a haughty arch of his brow had been worth the staring.

But then he'd had to get quill and parchment and explain as quickly as possible.

"Yes, I know how to get in contact with Potter, I was his fucking teacher. No, I am not your errand boy."

"It's from the bloody war, you obnoxious trollop." (He couldn't seem to get past insulting and needling her.)

"_No_, they just let criminals back into the world," he wrote with a sneer.

"THAT WAS SARCASM, YOU FUCKWIT." His quill bit viciously into the parchment, bleeding ink.

He'd thrust the copies of The Daily Prophet he had kept (a man has _some_ ego) at her and watched her skim them as the muscle under his eye twitched, grinding his teeth.

"I had no idea," she'd said, holding the clippings as far away from herself as possible, as if they were tainted, until he took them. "I was cleaning the attic, and I had forgotten about this..."

And she'd held up a stupid little black box. He stiffened his spine. _He'd_ brought that box to her, after that Halloween. Traditionally, Wizarding corpses were interred with any wedding bands or engagement rings, but he'd broken into St Mungo's to reclaim Lily's engagement ring.

It had been meant to go to the eldest child of the family, for the son to ask his future bride. James bloody Potter had used it, since both Evans children had been girls, and Petunia had been too fucking proud of the "perfectly normal ring from Vernon, thank you very much". And Severus was just sentimental enough to steal and return it, rather than go grave-robbing.

"I don't want Dudley using it," Petunia said primly. "It's been corrupted by _your _kind."

He hesitated.

"Write the boy a fucking note, and I'll see it gets sent to him," he wrote clearly.

"Then get the fuck away from me," he added as an afterthought, then handed her the parchment expectantly.

* * *

He'd shoved that _bloody_ box at Potter, plus the parcel of odds and ends from his pocket before stalking upstairs to the library with a glower. A few choice gestures, and even Molly had let him go.

He paced the length of the room, angry and annoyed and frustrated.

"Severus? Are you alright?" He sneered at Hermione as she shut the door behind her and placed the tea tray down. "Harry's crying. That ought to cheer you up."

Oddly, it did, and he laughed weakly, soundlessly, throwing himself into the armchair. A soft, warm hand touched his shoulder. "There we go."

A squeeze, and the hand departed. He mourned its loss, even as she handed him a parcel. "I'll let them know you haven't destroyed the library in a snit. Back in a moment."

The door clicked again and he scrubbed at his face, pushing his thin, damp hair back out of the way. He glanced at the tray. Two cups, one teapot, cream, sugar, biscuits, sandwiches, plates. The comfort of the yearly offering soothed him, and he looked at his present.

It was a beautifully-wrapped something. By the feel of it, it was another book, and he undid the curled green ribbon, peeling back the gold paper. It _was _a book. A piece of parchment was wrapped around it, blocking the title.

_Dear Severus - _

_Happy Christmas! I may have been sorted a Gryffindor, but I'm still coward enough to give this to you and find a reason to leave the room for a few minutes._

_My mum met a little girl in Australia, and, well, it inspired her to learn. She's gotten a teaching degree for it, and I've been her very first pupil. I love talking to you. I want to keep talking to you. I hope this will help you answer the question I will be asking you, since I haven't asked it yet. I'll probably ask before Christmas, unless I chicken out. I do that, sometimes, you know._

_At any rate... I do still want an answer._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

He pulled the parchment away and stared at the book.

Sign Language.

_Sign Language_. How had he not thought of this?

Hermione. Hermione'd been learning. For _him_? He cracked the spine and flipped until he found illustrations. His eyes _devoured_ them. Feasted. Oh, oh, oh. His heart was pounding, and blood couldn't decide which way to go and his vision swum and his hands shook.

She'd learned this for him. The memory of her hands, her fingers, played across the inside of his eyelids. She'd spelled it out. She'd asked him...

The door opened and he turned. Hermione stood there, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, teeth embedded in her lip, a single fist pressed to her breastbone.

'I l-o-v-e y-o-u. W -o-u-l-d y-o-u l-i-k-e t-o g-o o-n a d-a-t-e?' She'd asked him a week ago.

He stared at her and wondered which his face was showing as he raised a hand and shakily spelled out '_y-e-s._'

He started to spell "I l-o-v-e y-" but was interrupted by Hermione crossing the room, flicking the door shut with her wand before she grasped his hands and pulled him to his feet.

"I've wanted to ask you for so long," she murmured, staring into his eyes. Merlin, she was beautiful at this moment. She raised her fingers to his lips, tracing them softly. "May I...?"

He bent towards her and closed his eyes, meeting her in what surely must have been the very sweetest of kisses the world had ever had the privilege of seeing. This was...incredible. Her soft mouth, oh her hands on his shoulders, he felt so strong, so cherished, as he buried his fingers in her curls, holding her to him.

This was what he wanted. This was what he had dreamed of.

Finally, they drew apart, and she smiled breathlessly at him. "Happy Christmas, Severus."

_Happy Christmas, indeed_, he thought, pulling her down to taste his very second kiss.

* * *

So. Chapter 8. Left in a good place to continue in the new year, do you think?

I apologise for any errors – I really just wanted to post this, and it was bloody long. I apologise, again, if I do not post any more for a few weeks.

Reviews are, as always, appreciated! Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year, to all of you! This will continue, I promise it won't be abandoned!


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, shape, or form, own the Harry Potter name, world, or characters. I'm just playing with them. If you think I actually get any form of monetary compensation for writing this, then I'd like you to realize you have a horrible case of the stupids. Go eat something nutritious, get some rest, then sign back online.

Author's Note: Hello! I'm back! Things have been crazy (literally). But I am writing, I promise!

* * *

**CHAPTER 9: Lily**

Oh, yes. His second kiss was as sweet as his first. Hermione entwined her arms around his neck and tilted her head, his nose resting against her cheek. Stroking fingers cautiously in her hair, he couldn't help but open his eyes; hers were closed, lashes crisp and long against her skin, and those tiny, faint freckles that bespoke of time spent in summer sunshine... Merlin, she was beautiful! Her body was pressing closer to him, and he was torn between wanting her farther away so not to feel exactly how he felt, and wanting to pull her tight against him...

"'Mione!" came Ginevra's voice, accompanied with rapid footsteps as the youngest Weasley climbed the stairs. "I don't know _what _he did to make him so upset, but can you tell Snape Harry wants to talk to him?"

Severus pulled back from Hermione when her name was called, wand in his hand before he registered that there was no threat. Thankful for his long hair that hid his ears as they burned in embarrassment, he tucked his wand away.

Hermione was looking up at him with a sheepish smile as she slid her own wand back into her pocket, cheeks still blushing – from kissing him.

"Her-my-oh-kneeeee", dragged out Ginevra as the library door swung upon, cooling his ardor as effectively as a bucket of ice water. "Put down the book, and – oh, you're in here, too?"

He regarded her coolly, raising an eyebrow in derision. _You want to speak with me? Do it yourself. Hermione is not a messenger._

"Gin, I'm not an owl!" Hermione replied, sounding exasperated.

The girl flushed under both his gaze and Hermione's words. "Um, Harry wants to talk to you. He's in the kitchen. He's really upset, and it sounded it important."

With a suffering sigh, Severus pocketed his quill and parchment, then glanced at Hermione as his fingers hovered over his present, and she smiled at him. _Should I return here?_

"I'll be here when you get back," she said, taking a seat on the couch.

He nodded curtly and swept from room. He'd gotten no farther than to the top of the stairs when the library door clicked shut and he heard, "Did I just interrupt what I think I did?"

"Yes," came Hermione's too-casual reply, and he stalked silently back to the door to listen, curiosity aflame in his chest.

A pause, and he tried to block out the sounds of revelry from downstairs.

"That's _it_? Just 'yes'? Details, 'Mione!" The ancient sofa creaked in what was surely protest as the girl plopped onto it.

"Ginny..." Hermione's tone was that of the pestered. "He said yes."

"So you did ask him out?" she squealed.

"You know I did – I _told _how I feel about him."

_She loves me_, he reminded himself, feeling warm at the thought.

"And?" Ginevra prompted.

"He's a private person, Gin. I don't really want to get into details with you without talking with him about it." He could hear Hermione sigh through the doorway. "Why does Harry want to talk to Severus?"

"Whatever Snape – don't give me that look, 'Mione – gave him as he came in has him really upset, he won't show me or talk about it, just wants to talk to – oh! You are _not _side-tracking me!" She huffed out a breath and he could easily envision the sulky expression she was surely sporting. "'Hermione...I care about you. We all do. And you've gone and fallen for _Snape_, Hermione."

"So?" There was a frosty edge in Hermione's voice that clearly said she was on the defensive.

"Yes, I'm sure he's not a huge git anymore, and I know you're both the quiet, stay-at-home-with-a-book type... I just... We wanted to know, if well... he..."

Someone sighed.

"If he felt the same about me, because of Harry's mum," Hermione finished quietly.

_Lily? _It hadn't even occurred to him to bring her up to Hermione. In the back of his mind, he'd knew she'd known of his love for Lily Evans. Was he supposed to have spoken with Hermione about Lily? A lump lodged in his throat. Would this, perhaps, drive a wedge between them? Merlin knew, every time he _thought_ he had a chance to be, well, happy, something went horribly wrong.

"Yeah..."

"Ginny..." the sofa creaked again. "Ginny, I dated Ron for a while, yeah?"

The girl must have nodded.

"And I loved him, right?"

Another pause. Eavesdropping would be _much_ easier if he could see them. Perhaps he should invent a spell for turning doors and walls 1-way transparent to the caster, like the mirrors in Muggle crime dramas, not that he'd ever watched such things... more than once or twice... he'd been convalescing, damn it.

"And I still love him."

_What?_ Her words wrenched his focus back to the conversation, and his stomach dropped in alarm.

"_What?_" Ginevra echoed his own thoughts.

"Well, of course I do. We were friends first, Ginny! And while that love is different now – from friend to lover to a friend again, that doesn't mean I love Ron any less! I love you and Harry like siblings, you know that...And I'll always love all of you. It doesn't matter if we've fought, or don't see each other for a few months at a time while you're off playing Quidditch, I'll still love you just the same."

One of them sniffled.

"I expect he'll always love Harry's mum, Gin. But that doesn't mean he can't love me, too."

"How can you be sure?" Ginny asked in a small voice.

"I don't _have _to be sure. I know how I feel, and I know how he feels. I love him, Ginny. I love his eyes and that little almost-smile. I love his wit, and his insults are funny when they're not aimed at me – well, when he's being snarky, they're still funny, he doesn't intentionally try to insult me directly, you know."

"I _love_ him, Ginny. He's everything I want. His past makes him who he is, and that's who I love. If I hadn't dated Ron, I wouldn't be the Hermione I am now."

"But what about..." she trailed off.

"So?" Hermione sounded genuinely puzzled. "That doesn't matter. He doesn't have to speak for us to be able to talk."

"And it's completely beside the point, Gin." She sighed. "I'll always love Ron, and I hope he always loves her."

_She does?_ He wondered at that, and he pulled back from the door. His heart ached. She was _amazing_. He loved her, truly loved the amazing woman on the other side of the door.

"I highly doubt he's going to go comparing me to her, just as I'm not about to go comparing him to Ron, either."

She was right, he hadn't even thought about it. They were two different people.

"Do you.. do you think you could marry him?" Ginevra's voice was soft, and she sounded more unsure than he'd heard from the girl in the past.

"Yes," Hermione said simply, and his heart pounded and his mouth ran dry at the very thought. "I can see myself by his side every day for the rest for my life. I can see having a family with him, if he wants one. But we haven't even had a _date_ yet – that sort of thing is a long ways off."

A rustling and a shuffle. "Oh, don't cry, Ginny!"

He couldn't hear the reply, and wished he'd run off with some of his employer's Extendable Ears.

"Shush, it's okay... you _know _Harry loves you. Every year he says he wants to propose, you know that!"

Muffled sobs came through the door, and he stood there for some time as Hermione calmed her, leaning against the wall. She loved him. She _truly _loved him. Not some romanticized version of him. _Him_. With all of his flaws and past and... he exhaled quietly, shakily.

"You know Snape's probably out there listening to us, right?" came Ginevra's choked voice. "I just realised, I never heard him on the stairs."

_Damn it._

"Probably, yes." Hermione didn't sound worried in the least. "I haven't said anything I wouldn't say to his face, Gin."

Hermione laughed. "Don't give me that look! If he's listened, it's because he wanted to know. It's saved him the trouble of asking. It doesn't change anything. And if he hasn't listened, then we'll talk about this when he wants to know. I still love him."

"So, just one more question then." Ginevra sounded more like herself. "Is he a good kisser?"

"Ginny!" came Hermione's shocked reply and they both laughed. "He's the absolute best."

They giggled quietly and he slipped silently away from the door and down the stairs, feeling ridiculously pleased with himself, even if Potter _did_ most likely want to talk about that bloody ring.

* * *

Happy belated New Year!

It was time to get The Lily Talk out of the way.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, shape, or form, own the Harry Potter name, world, or characters. I'm just playing with them. If you think I actually get any form of monetary compensation for writing this, then I'd like you to go eat something nutritious, get some rest, then sign back online.

Author's Note: Apparently, I only have time now to really write on Fridays, so I may be updating more slowly. I am saddened by this, but... life is life. Also, I do try to answer every review, and, sometimes, I don't **want** to reply, because I really love what someone said ;_;.

* * *

**CHAPTER 10: Shut Up, Potter**

It was the tear-stained face of Harry-bloody-Potter that killed his mood. Contrary to popular belief, he didn't _actually_ enjoy making the boy, or any child, cry.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he scowled at him, reminding himself that it was because of Potter he had had to stop kissing Hermione.

_I swear, if he bloody hugs me, I shall prove myself the most powerful wizard alive by murdering Harry Potter._

He didn't _want_ to talk about Lily, or the Evans family engagement ring. He didn't want to listen to Potter bleat at him. What he _did_ want – to sit in the library with Hermione, give her her presents, and perhaps gain more experience in the way of kissing her – was apparently too much to ask.

"Um, hi," Harry said awkwardly, his voice hoarse.

Severus rolled his eyes in exasperation and swept across the room into a chair, watching the boy expectantly. _Well? Get on with it._

"You didn't have to bring this to me."

_Merlin, save me from Gryffindors and their tendency to overstate the obvious. _Sighing, Severus pulled his parchment in front of him, quill hovering as he debated momentarily over what to say.

* * *

At one point in the evening, the youngest Weasley boy had started to come into the kitchen, only to overhear that Potter was "finally getting answers from the greasy git" - _I'm mute, Weasley, not deaf_ - and had warned everyone to stay away.

Had he answered some of Potter's questions? Yes.

However, Potter seemed to think that _now_ was a brilliant time to wax eloquent on Severus himself, how grateful he was, etc. If he was completely honest, he thought that the boy's eyes had glazed over at some point and now he was stuck like a broken record without Severus to yell at him. He'd certainly proved immune to his most cutting glares.

If Severus hadn't been certain that Molly Weasley was waiting to ambush him outside the kitchen, to stop him from leaving "dear Harry" before he got all his answers, he would have left already. He'd edged towards the door twice, and both times Molly'd appeared, wooden spoon in hand. She'd given him a rather pointed look, and he'd sulkily slid back to his seat.

Honestly, he was a grown man. Over forty. You'd think that by now he could get away with things.

Instead, he sat at the kitchen table, wishing he was back in the library with Hermione, the tea tray, and crackling fire, sketching on his bit of parchment. He was a fairly decent artist, and he'd long learned the art of animating little doodles. This particular one had wonderful detail. Potter's eyes bulged right through his glasses as Severus's hands wrapped 'round the inked neck and squeezed.

His eyes crinkled in amusement, and he briefly debated showing it to Potter to shock him into silence, before using a quick Tergeo to remove the ink once more. Perhaps a Potter-potion this time? Or he could hang Potter again, that was always entertaining. Or he could feed him to Fluffy...serve him right, the scarred menace...

Somewhere between the seventh Potter-death drawing and the new one wherein Severus tied Molly Weasley, her youngest son, and Potter to the Christmas tree, then set it alight with a gleeful grimace, Hermione eased her way into the kitchen.

He was in the middle of working out a new spell to allow sounds with his animated drawing, much like Muggle animation (really, there needed to be the sound of flames and the screaming would make him feel better about the whole thing), when Hermione sidled next to him and kissed his cheek.

Well, at least that shut the boy up.

In fact, the glasses slid down the boy's nose in a rather satisfactory manner, and Severus allowed the corner of his mouth to lift in a smug smirk. _She kissed me – in front of Potter!_

"Sorry!" Hermione said brightly, seating herself next to him. She smiled across the table at Potter. "I figured Harry was holding you hostage, so I thought I'd join you."

_Potter, either you've decided to become a fly-catcher, or your jaw's become unhinged._

"Gin's a tad upset, Harry. Would you mind going up to speak with her? I left her in the library, she thinks you're mad at her or something."

_Close your mouth, Potter._

"She – she is?"

_Stop staring. Go away._

Hermione was nodding, curls bouncing. "She was in tears, Harry! Really, just sending her away to get Severus, when she could tell you were upset? It's only natural, after all."

"He – I -" Potter flushed. "Sorry. I just – we were talking, about Mum, and – sorry, I didn't mean to ignore her or make her upset, and I didn't think it'd take this long, 'Mione -"

_Shut up, Potter._

"_Harry_." Hermione said firmly, putting a stop to the blathering. "Go talk to Ginny, before Severus decides to murder you."

"Oh. Right. Sorry." He stumbled over his feet. Severus watched him go with as dark an expression as he could manage.

_Oh, thank Merlin. I thought Molly'd leave me trapped in here with him all night...Farewell, Potter... do try to walk into at least three walls. If you manage to fall up the stairs, make it as loud and painful as possible._

Hermione poked him to get his attention. "Sorry, Severus, for taking so long to come find you – Ginny was upset."

_I heard._ Well, perhaps he'd corrected that particular problem, albeit unintentionally. Oh, hell...was he going to have to attend Potter's wedding?

"Don't worry, I grabbed the presents," she was saying, setting them carefully on the kitchen table. "I'm fairly certain that Harry and Ginny will end up snogging in the library all night– do you want to go home?"

He studied her carefully. She was blushing, and she'd caught a lip and all he could think about was kissing her. Grasping her hand, he squeezed it gently, and with a deep breath, pointed at his chest. _Come home with me, Hermione. _

She stared at him, and his heart pounded. Mistake?

"_Your _house?" she looked stunned, and then grinned at him breathlessly. "Yes! I'd love to!"

She bowled past Molly with a "Harry's upstairs alone with Ginny" - clearly, the quickest way to rid herself of the matriarch – to the coats, dragging him behind her before flinging both coats over the arm with the presents.

Hermione paused on the front stoop, looking suddenly unsure. "You... you did mean now, right? I'm sorry, I just assumed -"

Severus pressed a finger to her lips and pulled her close. He quirked a corner of his mouth at her, kissed her gently – _three sweet kisses, Happy Christmas to me_ – and spun them into the snow.

Linebreak

Sorry for the delay. ;_;.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: Plot bunnies are distracting. Also, I've written the chapel's music director about wedding music. Yay, me! Yes, we're totally wanting nerdy music.

* * *

**CHAPTER 11**

Severus lay in his bed, allowing himself a chance to smile. It was quite early in the morning, and he was very certain that it was already the most wonderful Christmas of his life. More wonderful than the first Christmas at Hogwarts – he'd been so relieved to be away from his father that he hadn't cared that he'd never gotten a present in his life - and until tonight that had been the best experience of his life.

He'd shown Hermione the downstairs of his newly-welcoming home, for that was what it was now, and he'd made them tea with the blend he'd refilled for her Christmas present. (He'd neglected to mention that this time, he'd put a refilling charm on the canister, linked to the one in his cupboard that he'd keep stocked.) They'd sat in peace, watching frost on the kitchen windowsill as the kettle boiled.

She'd admired his home, called it 'lovely' and 'warm', and that it 'suited him'. She hadn't brought up Potter, hadn't even asked. Oh, he'd tell her eventually, in a letter – just because she wasn't asking now didn't mean it wasn't bubbling inside her know-it-all mind. It was a reward, almost, for her, to let him tell her things in his own time. He could tell she had burning questions, but she respected him, his privacy. She hadn't asked to see the upstairs, hadn't even asked for the loo.

Reasons, each of them, to love her. Facets of Hermione. Merlin, if he compared her to a jewel he was going to need to throw himself off a cliff.

But it had been wonderful. Wonderful Christmases did not happen to Severus Snape. They did not involve being asked on a date, kisses by the fire, or forays into sign language. He wondered when reality would could come crashing down upon him – but he ended that train of thought.

Tonight, he didn't want to think about when things would go wrong. He wanted to think of her lips on his, those lovely, beautiful lips, the way she'd held onto him, how she'd tasted of tea and smelt faintly of smoke from the fire... Tonight, he would allow himself some relief.

Closing his eyes, he reached down to grasp his cock. His feelings were reciprocated, she _loved_ him, clearly desired him... it would not be so terrible, after all, to allow himself some small pleasure.

* * *

Christmas morning, well, afternoon, after such a late evening and extended night's rest, was quiet for Severus. He continued through the book Hermione had given him, glad no one was around to see him gesturing and scowling when his pinky wouldn't flip quite the way the illustration depicted.

He'd already checked the tea canister, and had been pleased to see she was using her tea, and had been truthful about enjoying it. True, she wore her heart on her face, and had, admittedly, lit up when she'd seen her present, throwing her arms around him with a kiss to his cheek, but to see that she did use it as much as she claimed warmed his heart.

A simple soup and sandwich sufficed for his lunch – he wasn't about to make anything special for himself alone, and the cauldron of soup would stay warm long enough for dinner, or even lunch the next day. Easy, accessible...and lonely.

He missed Hermione. Merlin, they'd never even been on a _date_, and she'd spent only hours in his home, but already it felt empty without her here. He'd even settle for her flat. He'd volunteer to meet her parents (properly). Hell, he'd sit at the Burrow and let every Weasley – including Potter-the-honorary-Weasley – hug him, if it meant he could spend this day with her.

Scowling, he rose and retrieved his reading glasses. He absolutely, positively _did _not, _would_ not, spend his Christmas mooning over Hermione Granger. He would spend it with a captivating tome. Something interesting.

Alright, fine, and it was something he could later lend to and discuss with Hermione.

* * *

By tea time, he was distracted and angry with himself. So, she'd kissed him. She'd made the first step, and asked him out on a formal date. She'd told him she loved him. She'd kissed him, again, and it was _her_ bloody fault he couldn't think straight.

Hermione hadn't _abandoned _him, or any other such nonsense. Nor had they made plans to see each other that day. So why was he so desperate to see her? He didn't _need _her. He didn't need anyone.

He was _not_ lonely, the notion was absurd.

With the fiercest frown he could manage, Severus set to work on a set of Arithmancy equations for one of the shop's projects. He really detested the abominable line of love potions George insisted sold so well, on principle. They were far from "harmless" and had no business in a prank shop that sold to _children, _let alone the general populace.

For perhaps the thousandth time, Severus thought his employer was a dunderhead.

* * *

It was nearly dinner time when his mobile vibrated. His quill sailed across the room, equations forgotten in his haste to reach it and flip it open.

'Are you this Severus fellow that my little girl can't shut up about?'

_What the fuck?_ Curious as to which parent, but fairly certain it was the father, he typed back, 'I am'.

'Good. What do you need to do that fancy teleport thing your type does?'

Definitely the father. Severus hesitated, and wondered about the ramifications of texting about magic. Was the Ministry aware? If not, he wasn't going to tell them, hell no, he wanted _nothing _to do with the Ministry. He'd have to look into it discreetly. He and Hermione used it to arrange meetings, he couldn't remember them ever openly discussing their world.

'If I have the address, I can generally find my way where I'm going.'

'Well, beam you up, Scotty.' A pause, then it vibrated again with what must have been her parents' house.

_I get to see Hermione,_ his heart sang, and he quashed it. He halted his motions halfway through donning his scarf. If her parents had invited him over – using Hermione's mobile – he should bring something.

Dashing into the basement, he rummaged through boxes until he located the crates from his years at Hogwarts. One year, Albus had given him an 'exceptionally fine Muggle scotch', along with a tin of lemon drops. He'd kept the scotch – some Potions did use alcohol as a base, and at one point he'd considered testing various types in comparison to effectiveness and overall taste. It would have to suffice.

Back in the living room, he swept across the floor to the table and picked up his sign language book as well. No point in leaving it behind. As he closed the door, he couldn't help but be worried. Mr. Granger _had_ meant to invite him, hadn't he? Did Hermione know he was coming? Would she want him there?

Scowling, he slammed the door stalked towards the park he used for Apparition.

* * *

We bought our wedding bands today – 68 days to go! (Well...almost 67 now. Yay!)


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: Why do plot bunnies nibble my toes at bedtime? Seriously. I'm going to have to start wearing shoes to bed.

* * *

**CHAPTER 12**

He'd Apparated to an alley not _too_ far from the Granger home, all his senses on alert. He doubted it was some sort of trap, but old paranoia died hard. But instead of shadowy figures hell-bent on some twisted plan, he was instead faced with something potentially much more terrifying.

The neighborhood was charming. Warm-looking, comfortable family homes with tidily-shoveled walks, most of them with cheerily lit windows and strung with lights, and some even with little puffs of smoke trailing from chimneys.

Warmth. Home. Everything he'd wanted as a child. And in those homes, parents who loved and cared for their children. And in one home in particular, with the woman he very much loved inside, who clearly had loving parents who would do anything for their daughter.

And he wanted to be welcome here so much it ached.

* * *

Cheeks flushed from both cold and the shame of how he thought her parents would take to him, Severus crunched his way through the snow to stand on the front step of a brick home, trying to convince himself to knock beneath the cheery evergreen wreath.

This was the address he'd been given, and he doubted even the most villainous of plots would have gone to the trouble to use a giant tooth as postbox at the end of the short drive.

Shifting restlessly from one foot to the other, he knocked, then winced. Perhaps his knock had been too authoritative? Should he have gone with something softer? Regardless, he squashed the urge to affix his best sneer on his lips. He would make the utmost effort to be civil, and when they didn't like him, he could happily lay the blame at their feet.

Footsteps approached the door – he doubted whoever it would could see through the greenery-shrouded peephole, and he steeled himself for Mr. Granger's first look at him.

"Severus?!" Hermione pulled the door open, looking bewildered, but her eyes lit up and she was smiling like, well, like a child at Christmas.

"About time, Scotty. The Enterprise give you trouble?" Mr. Granger appeared behind his daughter, a thin man with thinning hair, and a rather smug look.

"Daddy? You – you sent for Severus?"

"I did, -" he was interrupted by the witch throwing herself at her father, squeezing him tight. He patted the wild curls. "You're welcome."

"Oh, thank you!" Hermione kissed her father's cheek, and bounded back to Severus, pulling him into the house, grinning. "Come in, Severus! Happy Christmas!"

He knocked the snow from his dragon-hide boots, then shrugged and dried them with a charm.

"Who was at the door?" Mrs. Granger's voice floated from the kitchen, along with the rather homey aroma of roasted turkey.

"I was tired of Hermione moping and checking her mobile every few moments like one of those teenagers, so I took it away from her." Mr. Granger replied, walking around the corner, out of sight as Hermione hung Severus's jacket by hers. She was still grinning at him like a madman.

"Anthony Wendell Granger, that is _not_ an answer." A rattle of silverware, then, "Here, take these and start to set the table, if you're determined to be deliberately unhelpful."

"And I was tired of hearing about him!" Mr. Granger hollered from what must have been the dining room. "So I waited til she was in the loo and invited the fellow over. Hand me another setting, Jeannie."

"Sorry," Hermione said softly. "I _may_ have been talking about you a little much."

Severus shrugged. _And just what, pray tell, have you been telling them?_

She blushed. "I promise, nothing bad, nothing too personal – they've known we've been having lunches, Mum knows more about um, other things, than Dad." By 'other things' she must have meant her feelings. "But Dad's figured that out by now."

Hermione laughed nervously. "They know you're a Potions Master, um, they _do_ know your role during the war - mine, too, don't glare at me – and, that, well..." Her cheeks flamed. "They know you're brilliant and inventive and do consulting work at St. Mungo's, along with your brewing."

_So, not much_.

"And that you're the reason I got Mum to start teaching me sign language," she finished.

He pulled her close, and dropped a kiss to the top of her head. She hadn't sent him away, was glad to see him. Her father seemed happy to see him – or, at least, happy to see Hermione happy. As Hermione pulled away to join her parents, he couldn't help but feel a bit miserable.

Really, he should know by now to bring along his quill and parchment, and they were bound to have questions.

Hermione turned back to smile at him, and he sighed and followed.

_I am not nervous, damn it._

The house was lovely so far, but Hermione's flat felt more homey to him. Her flat was warm tones, this was softer colors, with florals; clearly, her mother had done most of the decorating, using a – his lip curled – _magazine_ for inspiration, rather than any real personal taste. It was all too perfect for him, and he felt very out of place.

Hermione's flat had personal touches – photographs and bits she chose to display – and his had, well, none, as he didn't _have_ any. But the personal photographs and the like here seemed almost staged. Here, a lovely lamp. Photographs along the mantle, displayed 'just so', neatly lined above the light-trimmed garland and stockings. The tree glimmered across the room, the baubles pristine and decorative bows neatly tied.

She turned again, watching him with frown. "Severus? Are you alright?"

He nodded. _No, I don't belong here._

Hermione looked around the room. "Mum uses this room for when guests come over; the rest of the house isn't so picture-perfect. Dad's office a right mess, and the kitchen's really comfortable. The dining room's like this one, but most days it's piled with papers and we use placemats I made in primary school."

She smiled at him and kissed his cheek. "You look rather like a deer in the headlights – oh, don't use Occlumency, it's alright. Mum loves everything she's heard, and I think Dad's just tired of hearing Severus-this, Severus-that."

He tried to relax his face. _The last time I had to play 'meet the parents', Hermione, I was bloody nine._

"Oh, and Mum can cook," she told him ruefully. "I inherited Dad's kitchen prowess. He set fire to the toaster, once."

"I did not!" Mr. Granger protested, coming around the corner with a grin. "I set fire to the _toast_. Let's get that settled. And, really, I set it to 'toast', not 'flambe'. Why on earth would that happen, then, I ask you?"

"Because you never clean the crumbs out like I tell you to, dear," said Mrs. Granger, following her husband into the room. She looked more like her daughter – warm brown hair shot with gray, slightly curled but pulled back, and smile lines crinkling the corners of both eyes. "Pleasure to meet you properly, Severus! Happy Christmas!"

Hermione stepped back – _traitor_ – and let her mother hug him. His spine stiffened, and she released him.

"Oh, we're all touchy people here, Scotty," said Hermione's father practically. "Better get used to it. Jeannie's never let a one escape, I guarantee you won't be the first to do so."

"Dad – Apparition is not like Star Trek!" Hermione sounded exasperated.

"Well, do you get the coordinates or whatever of where you want to go?" He countered. She nodded. "And then you teleport there?" Hermione sighed and nodded again. "Then far as I'm concerned, it is. Familiar with the show at all, Scotty?"

Severus exhaled so as not to strangle the man, and gave a curt nod. In an effort to change the subject (and to stop being called 'Scotty'), he handed over the bottle of scotch with a tight smile.

"Ooh, brilliant! Quite nice of you, on short notice too! Lovely year, do you drink?" Severus shook his head in the negative. "Right pity, this will be a fine nightcap..."

"But dinner first," Mrs. Granger said, beaming. "Severus, I'm sorry for Anthony pulling you away from your own holiday evening, it was absolutely lovely of you to join us."

"Oh, yes and call me Anthony!" called, well, Anthony, as he ducked down a hall, then returned sans scotch. "And you've met Jeannie -"

"It's Jean, and briefly, yes, let's not bring that up on Christmas, hmm?" Jean cast a quick glance at Hermione, who did look slightly pained, and was twisting the hem of her jumper in her fingers. "Why don't we have dinner? Do you have any food allergies, Severus? No? Lovely, there's a wild rice with walnuts that Hermione's particularly fond of with her turkey, and I promise she didn't cook any of it, so it's perfectly edible."

Hermione laughed, and took Severus by the hand. "Alright?"

_As I ever am._

He nodded, and she led him through the warm kitchen to the dining room, seating him across from what must have been her place, judging by the mobile Anthony was setting there. Hermione ducked under her mother's arm of rolls back into the kitchen, returning with a small legal pad and a stubby pencil, which she handed to him before heading back to help her mother with bringing out the rest of the meal.

"I'm really glad you're here," she whispered to him on one pass with a bowl of potatoes. "I missed you. Silly, isn't it?"

Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

"I'll clean up, Mum," Hermione said, rising from the table, picking up her plate. Anthony wandered off, somewhere down the hall, saying something about scotch.

"And, yes, you can use magic," Jean said. Hermione merely stuck her tongue out at her mother and levitated the dishes, which followed her into the kitchen. "Well, that'll keep her a while..." She turned to Severus. "Hermione said she gave you a sign language book for Christmas. Has it been going well?"

He nodded hesitantly, and managed a 'thank you for dinner'.

"Oh good! I didn't doubt Hermione was right when she said you were quick – it's why she started learning first, you know," she added conversationally over the clatter of dishes and water. "She said you were brilliant, and a very quick study when you throw yourself into something."

Severus allowed himself a rather smug look. An accurate assessment from his witch.

"Which hand do you usually use, dear?"

_Both._ Severus held up both hands.

"Ambidextrous? Impressive. That will make things a bit easier for you, then..."

"You're ambidextrous?" Hermione said, coming back out to gather the silverware. "So _that's _why half your letters look funny!"

_I didn't want to put down the teacup_. He mimed drinking a cup of tea for her, and she grinned. "I should have realised, really... I mean, I've seen you _cast_ with both hands, I just didn't expect you to to write with both, as well."

_It's useful for Potions, and not as useful to advertise_, he thought bitterly to himself, remembering the time he'd been in Diagon Alley getting school supplies, and an ensuing scuffle with Potter and Black and resulted in him spending several weeks at home with a broken hand.

"So I imagine you've finished the alphabet, then, and obviously you've gotten to basic conversation," Jean continued, ignoring Hermione, who left with the cutlery. Severus nodded. "Excellent, goodness, you really are a quick study."

_Indeed. _He'd always been quicker than most.

"If you'd like to work with me, get a little practice in, I'd be more than happy to," she told him. "I've just got my teaching certification, and Hermione's been my first student. I could even teach the two of you together, if you'd like."

He inclined his head. _I'll consider it_.

"Have you given any thought to what your name sign will be?" He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Oh, you don't know – 'Name Signs', well, that's what I call them... You see, some people find it annoying to continuously sign out a name for a person. Quicker than spelling within a certain group, to have your own designated sign. See? This is what I will use with my students."

She demonstrated the sign. "And this is for Anthony, since I end up talking about him..."

Severus tilted his head in the direction of the kitchen inquiringly.

"Hermione doesn't have one yet, she was adamant that you should choose it." He looked sharply at Jean.

_She wants me to choose?_

* * *

Christmas with the Grangers was...nice. They weren't too obtrusive. Anthony was practical man, albeit with a rather annoying habit of calling him 'Scotty'. Forgivable, as long as it did not occur outside of the home, and especially not within earshot of anyone else.

Jean was motherly, and it was clear to see where the woman next to him on the couch as they watched 'The Court Jester' with her parents had gotten a great deal of her nature. They'd even invited him with them shopping tomorrow, for the boxing day sales. Apparently, Hermione wanted a new computer, and Severus had been forced to confess that he was, well, interested in the advances that technology had made.

Besides, he still had a date to set time for with Hermione, and a computer would come in handy for research, and keeping track of some of his notes. He could probably even persuade her to come to his home and call the internet companies for him. Perhaps he could set a date with her sometime before the New Year? She certainly seemed amenable to spending time with him.

Hermione's fingers brushed against his again, and she smiled over at him before leaning her head onto his shoulder.

Maybe wonderful Christmases _did_ happen to Severus Snape after all.

* * *

There you go. :) Do I get credit for posting so quickly together?


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: Why do plot bunnies nibble my toes at bedtime? Seriously. I'm going to have to start wearing shoes to bed.

* * *

**CHAPTER 13**

He was done. Utterly done. This was foolish, and insipid, and it was Hermione's presence that kept him from hexing the bloody Muggles who packed the store far too tightly for his comfort. It was loud, and he couldn't keep track of everyone.

The press of people seemed almost too much for Hermione, who'd at one point grasped his hand and had, thus far, refused to relinquish it.

She'd apologised three times since entering the store, which he found entirely unnecessary. Clearly, she was as jumpy as he was, and he supposed that being in a war would do that to you. He was just better at dealing with and masking it than she.

He glanced down at her again. Even pale and gripping his hand, she looked lovely. He'd Apparated to her flat this morning so her parents could drive them both easily. Anthony'd talked along the way of needing a new...something-or-other. He honestly hadn't been listening, looking at the wisps of curls escaping from Hermione's braid.

She was so beautiful to him. She had smiled, eyes sparkling, when he'd appeared in her living room, greeting him with a hug and now, a kiss.

Sixteen.

Sixteen stolen, coveted kisses, that burned his blood and made his heart pound.

He wanted more kisses, more time with her, and they hadn't even had a bloody _date_. Still, she kissed him loved him. Were they a 'couple'? Heaven forbid he was her 'boyfriend' – banal term for a man such as himself. They were not intimate enough to be lovers. 'Sweetheart' was foolish at his age.

Were they courting? Excellent term, suitable. Was he her suitor, perhaps? Perhaps not. It implied the intent to marry, and while he could easily see himself remaining with Hermione that long, it would be improper of him to make the same assumption of her, regardless of what she'd said to Ginevra.

He scowled as another Muggle jostled him, knocking him into Hermione. Severus snarled at the man's retreating back and sent a wandless tripping jinx his way. In this crowd, no one would think anything of it.

And no one did. In fact, they barely offered the fallen man a glance as they stepped around him, busy on their way.

"Severus? The computers are to the right, let's head that way. Mum and Dad will know where to find us."

He nodded once and set off in that direction. Apparently the stride that had sent students ducking to either side of the halls worked just as well in a crowded shop, and soon he had cleared quite the path, Hermione following him at a near jog.

"I was thinking a laptop – then I could take work with me on lunches," Hermione said, and he gave her a withering look.

_Lunch should be a time to eat and relax, Hermione. Not work. Even I know that. If I need to complete my work so badly, I will skip lunch entirely._

She looked at him sheepishly. "I guess you disagree."

He snorted. 'Disagree' was a mild term, but acceptable.

"Fine. Desktop, then. Probably less expensive anyway. How about you?" He shrugged.

"Well, do you intend to cart it around the your house? Or leave it in one place, Severus?"

He considered briefly, reading some of the information on the tags of various laptop models. If he intended to use it for research purposes, he would not want it in the living room or office. Should a Muggle manage to break into his home, they would most likely ignore the tomes, and look for valuable items. A laptop would be a valuable item, and if he had research information therein, he'd be in a great deal of trouble. Oh, missing work he could replace easily, with his memory, but _magical _information in the hands of a Muggle? And should a Wizard break into his home, they would find no value in Muggle technology. One place, then, would be safest, most likely the basement, near his brewing area.

He moved to an aisle of desktop computers, trying to make sense of what the little cards meant, exactly. Yes, alright, MB. But what was MB? What did that mean for the technology? He scowled irritably. He hated being at a disadvantage. Why hadn't he kept up with the specifics of Muggle technology? Why had he only kept abreast of the basics?

"Can I help you, sir?" A spotty-faced teenage voiced the question. "I see you're looking at a great model, there. First time buying a computer?"

Severus swallowed a moment of panic as he glanced up and realised Hermione was no longer right beside him. Where had she gone? There were too many people, and he cursed the becoming braid she'd worn. If her hair had been its normal mass of curls, she would have been much easier to spot, despite her diminutive stature.

_Damn it, Hermione... _He looked around once more in vain.

_One moment_, he gestured to the teen, and pulled out the paper and pen he'd brought.

'I cannot speak, and have misplaced my companion. I want a computer for home use; research, recording-keeping, and the internet. No, I have not purchased a computer before.' He tried to keep his scrawl legible.

"Sick, mate?" The boy grinned at him. "It's going around. So just a basic computer then -"

He started in on mega-bites (though why someone would be foolish enough to attempt to place their teeth on the metal boxes around him made no sense), and mega-hurts, and rams, and, frankly, he was getting increasingly frustrated.

He couldn't see Hermione. Couldn't find her. Couldn't shout for her – and if he _could_, he'd have no _reason_ to call for her... No way to reach her – he dug into his pocket and retrieved his mobile. The feeling of relief was banished when he realised it had no signal. No signal. In an electronics shop.

Bloody brilliant.

The teen was still talking, something about CD drives (he knew what a CD was, thank Merlin for small favors).

He needed Hermione. The movie. Last night, the film, it had had a whistle one side had used to alert the others, to locate them.

Severus inhaled and whistled, sharply. The teen stared at him, slack-jawed, not comprehending. He waited, and just as hope was lost, he heard it back. He whistled again. Again, it was repeated. Once more, and Hermione appeared, pushing between two shoppers.

"Severus! I lost you! I'm so sorry, I got distracted and didn't notice!" She smiled at the boy, who tried to posture himself, straightening his spine. "Sorry. Did he find one you like, love?"

_Love_. With one word, she had placed herself off-limits, and had titled herself for Severus. She was not a lover yet, no, nor a clumsy 'girlfriend'. She was his love.

Hermione took over the task of asking, glancing at him for continued approval for things such as specifications, careful to clarify their meaning for him without making him feel foolish, and prices. She met all his needs, confident and beautiful, before moving the salesboy to the aisle with machines to fill her own wants.

Merlin, how he loved her.

* * *

By nightfall on the twenty-seventh, the man from the internet company had already come, been partially-Obliviated, and gone. Hermione wouldn't be _too_ pleased about that, but all he'd done was make the man forget about the magical tomes and potions equipment. The man thought he'd seen books, now, and films, and cookware, and storage boxes. Not jars of ingredients, cauldrons, quills, parchment, and spellbooks. The rest he'd left intact, even his surly attitude at having been kept waiting and the man's impatience at having had to read Severus's questions.

There really were benefits to being the most powerful living Occlumens _and_ Legilimens.

But now, he had a computer. He amused himself with mental images of the Dark Lord having a bloody fit at the mere thought. Of course, he'd read the manual, familiarized himself with the basic set up. Typing was akin to the typewriter his father had stolen from the factory in a drunken bout of indignation of being laid off, before he'd smashed it in _another_ drunken fit.

At least he didn't have to learn how to type, he told himself sternly, directing his thoughts away from his past.

Their date was set for the twenty-eighth. A Saturday evening, when other couples would be out. They'd decided while waiting for her parents at lunch that it would be nice to have a date before the New Year, and Hermione had asked if he'd consider coming to the New Year's party this time around. He'd nodded, knowing that if she truly wanted him there, he would end up going.

But in the interim, he had a _date_ to get ready for. Oh, bloody hell, he had mere hours at this point. He'd located a (Muggle) restaurant near a museum that they would find interesting. It was also conveniently near a bookshop.

He'd also made himself an email account. It seemed the thing to do. Hermione had said that she also had one, and Jean had shared her own address with him, as well, so that he could set up time to learn a bit.

It was hard to feel annoyed with needing to learn something with Hermione's mother. The woman was kind and patient, and did not speak down to him when he'd needed explanation. It would behoove him to take advantage of her offer.

Severus wondered if there were any guides to courting in the Muggle world. Would Hermione expect a gift? Perhaps flowers? Well...that may give her the wrong idea. Perhaps a single bloom?

Merlin, did flowers still have meanings in this day and age?

He sighed and swept down the basement stairs to the computer. Less than a day with it and he was already spending too much time on the damn thing.

* * *

Next time, they get to go on a date!


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note: Hey. Hey guys. It's cold in Canada. Really cold. Also, we are approaching more...intimate parts of our tale. Please be aware that these things do happen between people attracted to each other. If you're not a fan of such lascivious things, you may wish to avert your eyes. If you are not of an appropriate age for such things...well, in high school my grandmother tossed me a romance novel and told me I could read it if I "promised to skip over the sexy parts". (Guess which parts I read multiple times?) Long story short – if you're not of age, you should not be reading. But I can't exactly enforce that, and honestly.. I'd rather someone read smutty things rather than go out experimenting, or read 50 Shades. (I really, really hate that series.)

* * *

**CHAPTER 14**

Oh, Merlin, he was nervous.

Really, how was this different from their lunches, or visiting the pub? He'd visited her home. Slept both awkwardly on her couch, and in her bed. Spent a great deal of time in her company. They'd browsed the occasional shop together after lunches. He'd shared Christmas with her and her parents, who on the surface did not revile him.

This was still Hermione. He'd known her for several years, even if some of those years he'd been her professor. _Don't __**think**__ about that._ They corresponded almost daily. They shared several interests, could sit in companionable quiet for any length of time...

She'd never cared if his hair was lank from bending over a cauldron. She'd never mocked his teeth, despite being the daughter of dentists. She'd never said a thing about the size of his nose. She did not treat him like an invalid, and gave him wonderful, thoughtful gifts. She'd kissed him a wonderful twenty-one times. Twenty-one more and he'd have one kiss for each year he'd been alive.

This was Hermione, who professed her love for him to her friends and to his face. Quite possibly, she was the best acquaintance or friend he'd ever had the pleasure of having. Not once had she done anything to show distaste for him. Hell, she'd called _him _first when she was distraught, not her parents, not the dunderheaded duo.

Everything seemed to indicate that this would go well, that their feelings were mutual.

So why was he nervous?

* * *

Severus rather thought it would be improper to Apparate directly to her flat, opting to use a farther point and walk the remaining distance. He'd changed his jumper twice. The first, truly, had not been his fault, as he'd upended a mug of tea on himself. _Distracted. Foolish of me._ Choosing to view it as a sign of fate to select a different look, he'd cleansed the fabric with magic and changed both jumper and dress shirt.

And then changed again. Just to be certain he looked alright.

_She knows how I look,_ he'd scolded himself, even as he'd spat the spearmint-flavored mouth cleansing potion down the drain and pulled the jumper over his head.

He attempted to smooth his hair. When freshly washed, it was lighter, and tended to fly away. A few hours in front of the cauldron, however, and it hung lank. There was no win, and for one of the few times since his school days, he desperately wished he was handsome.

But now, it was too late. On the other side of the door was Hermione. Surely, she'd have heard him striding down the hall...and he was no coward. For good or for ill, they would have a first date. So he did the only course of action left.

He knocked.

* * *

He couldn't stop staring at her. He didn't remember everything they'd seen that afternoon at the Petrie Museum. Everything after she'd opened her door and accepted his somewhat-bedraggled pink rose with a kiss was more or less a blur.

Apparently, good things _could_ happen to him, he mused as they waited for a table. He'd chosen an Indian place for the evening – Hermione had quite a liking for the naan, and he enjoyed the myriad of spices in the air. Identifying each one was an enjoyment to him, appealed to the Potions Master in him.

She smiled up at him, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a lopsided return. Slipping her hand into his, she rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Hermione retained his hand, standing close enough for him to smell whatever light perfume she wore.

She'd never worn perfume before. Oh, the small cosmetic touches on her eyes he'd noticed before during the work week. But the perfume was new. She'd worn it for their date. For _him. _

Thankful for the length of his coat as they wound through the restaurant to their table, he wondered what expectations Hermione had. He'd been waiting for her to tell him, but she'd seemed content with just his presence.

And Merlin forbid he be reduced to inquiring.

In fact, she'd seemed rather shy today, stealing glances at him, walking as close to him as she could. Severus felt a little more in control once he realised she was as nervous as he.

Nothing had _changed _between them_._ They'd only added – added kisses and embraces and her small hand in his. It wasn't that she suddenly loved him – she had and merely had said nothing, same as he. So they both knew. What did that change?

"Thank you," she said softly from behind her menu, looking up at him through her lashes.

_For what?_

"I didn't know there was a Wizarding Wing at Petrie's."

_Most museums of art or artifact do, Hermione._ He was a bit annoyed. Why the bloody hell was she thanking him?

"They're fascinating, I think," she was babbling something about the Egyptians and their magical practices. "I mean, right before third year, Ron got to go to Egypt, and see the tombs, and all he could go on about was the mutated corpses and seeing 'cool stuff'. Not a single thing about their magical practices..."

Under his gaze, she flushed suddenly and looked down at the menu again.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to get carried away. I've had a lovely time. This is..nice." Hermione smiled up at him again. "I'm glad we're on a date. I've wanted to ask you for _ages_, I just..wasn't sure if you'd...well.. felt the same."

He gave her a dry look. _You weren't supposed to know. I am just as surprised as you that the...feelings are mutual._

She squirmed and looked away. "I just... I didn't want to lose our friendship. I wanted more but didn't want to lose what we had, either."

On impulse, he reached across and held her hand, lips curving into the smallest of smiles. _Cease your prattle, Hermione._

Hermione grinned at him and set the menu aside, caressing his hand with her thumb. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to let my mouth run away with me."

He shrugged, withdrawing his hand. _It does not truly bother me, at least your idle talk is not inane, unlike some I am forced to deal with._

Thankfully, the rather awkward conversation was brought to an end by the arrival of their server (and a mild stinging hex when he placed his palm on Hermione's back companionably – nothing more than the equivalent of a static shock, but she'd looked at him in rebuke, and he'd merely raised an insolent eyebrow),and they fell easily back into their dining, well, routine. She placed their order, they conversed – Hermione softly, talking to him, asking him opinion, and he demonstrated his quick grasp of sign language.

"You're going to pass me in no time," she told him ruefully as their meals arrived. She tossed her curls over her shoulder and reached for the naan.

Severus closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. He loved curry – all the herbs and spices in one dish... they worked together in harmony, like a potion. She'd exasperatedly sent back a dish for him before because the scent was off, and more than once.

Aware of the prickling sensation of being watched, his opened his eyes to look at Hermione.

She was smiling at him, and he scowled, ripping his own naan viciously.

* * *

They'd opted to not dwell in the small restaurant, and he'd been somewhat saddened to see her cover the lovely blue sweater that clung to her breasts with her coat once more.

It was chilly enough now for the light drizzle from earlier to have turned to flurries, and he tried to view it as less miserable, rather than as abominably trite, to see the little white flakes find purchase on her curls.

His shoulders hunched, and as Hermione slipped her hand cautiously into his, he relaxed a little.

"Are you you enjoying your computer so far?"

He shrugged. _Copying my research and other documentation will take some time. _

"I had to input all my case data and research when I got my old one," Hermione said, exasperation coloring her voice. "I half wish the Ministry was more up-to-date with Muggle technology, but then I also wish they'll remain ignorant about it."

_Indeed_, he thought dryly, snorting softly in agreement.

"Mum said you're be coming around for lessons starting tomorrow, by the way," she said carefully. "She wanted to know if you would like to just stay for dinner those nights. I usually do."

He stopped at the door to the nondescript bookshop that appeared as they neared it, and held it open for her, eyebrow lifted in invitation. _Is he going to call me Scotty again?_

"They like you," she offered softly, loosening her scarf. "Oh, look! Firenze's book on centaur divination was finally published!"

Despite Hermione's dislike for the subject, she still went over to the display. She'd spent several weeks researching laws that would allow the once-Professor to not only publish a book, but retain rights to the material contained. Her work had definitely set a precedent, and the proceeds from this work, she'd excitedly told him at lunch last fall, would help keep lands belonging to various herds protected from Muggle development.

They browsed, Severus migrating towards some of the newer Arithmancy tomes, and Hermione flitting from subject to subject. It was warm and peaceful in the shop, and he had to admit that despite the conversational stumble at dinner, his first date had gone quite well. They were comfortable together, and he quite enjoyed having her around. He should ask her out again – perhaps he would offer to cook for her, at his home. She could peruse his books...maybe he could enjoy more kissing on his new sofa...

He banished his idle fantasies and sorted through the authors. _Mifflin, shite. Manuel Primera, excellent author. Matt Chamise, does decent equation layouts. Houghton, utter tripe... _

"Severus?" Hermione poked her head around the aisle. "Did you want a copy of this?"

She extended a book on Wizarding anecdotes. He smirked. _She remembered? _Upon trying to take the book, however, she pulled it away.

"Well, you can't have it _now!_" She grinned and headed for the register.

He snorted softly, replacing the tomes he did not desire to purchase. _Gryffindor – still as subtle as a sledgehammer._ He knew she knew damn well his birthday was soon.

Making the purchases did not take long. The cashier either did not recognise them – _thank Merlin_ – or did not care about having 'celebrities' in their shop. Either way, he was pleased at the lack of attention. He took her hand in his as they headed for the door, and her smile was utterly brilliant as she looked at him.

And then his evening nearly went to shit.

As he reached to push the door open, it was pulled open by a former student. A Slytherin student, no less. Marcus Flint - brute of a boy, and now he had the look of a brutish man. In fact, he took one look at them and guffawed loudly.

"Granger? Potty's little friend?" _Clearly, he has not graduated beyond his school years in mental capacity_, Severus scowled at the little bastard, who looked down to their hands. "Out on a date with _Professor Snape, _are we? Can't do better?"

"No," Hermione said icily, holding his hand firmly. His heart turned to ice. "I'm out on a date with _Severus –_ where's _your _date, Flint? Oh, I'm sorry, they don't allow trolls on the streets of Muggle London."

And then she breezed past him, and Severus swept alongside her, heart singing even as he vowed to send something nasty to the boy at the nearest opportunity. Oh, yes, that would be a _marvelous_ retribution for upsetting her.

"Nasty, arrogant, little cockroach," Hermione was muttering. "Honestly! As if you – hey!"

He tugged her hand into the nearest alley and swung her around to face him. _Did you mean that?_ His fingers were nearly frantic as he managed the words.

"Well, yes," she told him breathlessly, watching his hands. "I mean, you're still Professor Snape, and you're whoever you were before him, and the kid you were before – but I'm in love with _you_, Severus."

_I love you_, he signed. _I love you, _and he held the letter _h _ in front of her, then laid his hand flat against his heart for _mine_.

He repeated it, a little more emphatically. _I love **you**, Hermione._

"My name," she whispered, eyes misted. "You said _my name_, oh, Severus -!"

She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. When her lips parted, he took advantage, tasting her for the first time. She moaned, and she tasted divine, felt amazing in his arms, and he couldn't remember Apparating them to his home, but there they were, in the living room.

Hermione smiled, broke, the kiss, and he fell heavily back onto the sofa. She followed, and he pulled her close for more kisses. He barely noticed as she twined his hair in her fingers, and – _oh, shite_ – she was on his lap, dangerously close to rubbing against a certain appendage.

Tugging on her curls to tilt her head, he pressed kisses down her neck. This was real, this was happening. She tried to shift further into his lap, but he shook his head and placed a hand on her thigh. Panting lightly, he met her gaze.

_No_, he signed. _Too fast, Hermione._

"Sorry," she said, lips wet from _his_ kisses. "Can I still kiss you?"

He smirked at her. _Kissing is not off the table, no,_ he managed, mangling a sign and resignedly spelling it out. _Am I still welcome at New Year's Eve?_

"Of course!" She kissed his nose and smiled brightly.

_Excellent. _He scowled at her audacity and pulled her down for another kiss. Then another. Admittedly, he lost track, but somehow managed to send her home hours later. They'd kissed, parted and spoken, enjoyed kisses while the kettle shrieked, had tea, kissed again... And she'd accepted his invitation to join him for dinner after the new year before she'd kissed him one last time, slowly, gently, and Apparated home.

So now he was alone, the warmth she'd brought had gone, and it was late. Severus shelved the Arithmancy books for later perusal, checked both his wards and the potion maturing in the basement, and headed for his bed.

He hesitated briefly, then sent Hermione a brief message. "Thank you for accompanying me this evening. I shall see you tomorrow evening, and for New Year's, as well."

Setting the phone to charge, Severus began removing his clothes for sleep. Things were...progressing quickly with Hermione. He did not mind the rapidity at which they found themselves engaging in licentious behavior, but he did wonder if she would still find him attractive if and when they found themselves without clothing.

Facing the mirror, he studied himself. No, he wasn't handsome. Teeth crooked, nose too large for his thin face, but those she obviously could see and looked past. He was no longer _too_ thin, but still thin. Wiry, maybe. Perhaps his build would be alright.

While he'd ended up with his father's nose, he had thankfully dodged the man's hirsute covering. Oh, he still had fine black hairs on his arms and legs, and the appropriate proportion of curls at the groin (that area of himself he had no problems with and was comfortable with), but where his father had been rather carpeted, he had been spared. The trail from groin to stomach was neat, and his chest had downy black hair, no grays yet, even at his age. It was a decent covering. Not sparse. Not a pelt. Decent.

If he was honest, it was the scars that bothered him. He knew of them, knew their origins and their shapes and feel, but Hermione...did not. He was not riddled with them, but they were enough that a woman could find them disfiguring.

He held his hands out. Calloused but nimble from his work. Strong fingers. Not...so bad. Strong arms. Wondering concernedly if her previous amours had been more sculpted, he flexed, feeling more than a bit silly, and then scowled at his reflection. He was not flabby, and it shouldn't matter – he was strong, he knew. Strong arms, strong chest, strong legs...soft stomach, but it was flat. Scars puckered here and there...and the pale silvery scar of the Dark Mark.

_That_ he was concerned about. Firmly fixing her words from earlier in his mind, how she was in love with _him_, not who he had been (not that she'd discounted any of his past – she merely accepted it and cared for who he was now), he forced those thoughts away and lay in his bed, thinking.

Hermione thought he was worthy of her, so, in a way, he must be. Her parents, odd as they were, accepted him. And she kissed him with as much passion and abandon as he'd seen between students he'd gleefully taken points from and assigned to tortuous detentions.

Oh, her kisses... he closed his eyes, inhaling slowly. He could still pick up that soft, subtle scent of her. It _clung_ to him, and he stirred at the thought. Remembering the way she'd tasted, her smile, the curve of her cheek, the feel of her skin under his lips...

Stiffening, Severus reached smoothed his hands over his chest. Felt himself the way he wished Hermione would touch him. And he _longed _to be touched by her. It consumed his dreams these days. Left him hard, left him aching...and now he'd had her in his lap, so near to touching him...knew the feel of her in his arms, the press of her breasts to his chest...

He touched his own flat nipples, ran fingers through his hair. He _wanted _her. Not just to make love to her, not just as a friend, but as a companion in his life, forever and always. He wanted to court her, to love her, to have her love him, become her partner, show her he considered her an equal, and, _Merlin, yes_, make love to her...

Grasping his cock, he stroked it. Before her, he'd considered this pastime dead, unimportant in his life. But now... oh, now he loved the pleasure of it. He longed to share everything with her, to bring _her_ pleasure.

Becoming harder with each stroke, his breathing quickened. Severus doubted he'd last long this night, not after spending most of the evening hard, not after her kisses, sharing her breath, tangling his tongue with hers... He quickened his pace, head falling back as his fist tightened around his girth. Oh, Merlin, this felt so good, envisioning Hermione here with him, her hands on him, his hands on her...

His mobile vibrated and he gestured, panting slightly, to flip it open.

"Thank you, too!" said the text. "I can't wait to see you. I love you."

His eyes focused on the last sentence as he moved faster, afraid to blink, searing the words, the evidence of her love, into his brain.

_She loves me, she loves me, she loves me,_ was his mental chant as he stroked himself. It felt so good, the fire in his chest, the throbbing organ in his fist, the scent of her, her words in front of him... his balls tightened, and as he neared the precipice he dropped the mobile to avoid crushing it.

_Yes, yes, yes, oh, Hermione-!_ His body tensed as he came, jerking slightly with each spurt of come. He lay there, panting, stroking himself slower as he came down from the high. As his breathing slowed, he cast a wandless cleansing charm over himself. Carefully, he picked his mobile back up to send one more message before sleep.

"I love you as well."

* * *

To be continued in Chapter 15! I can't wait for Severus's revenge on George to FINALLY take place on New Year's. I amuse myself.


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note: **Posted Within 24 hours of chapter 14. If you missed that one, go back! :)**

* * *

**CHAPTER 15**

The days between their first date and New Year's Eve passed too quickly for Severus. He had spent his mornings at Hogwarts, replenishing the Hospital Wing's supply and dodging Minerva, his afternoons at work (minus one afternoon on a case for St. Mungo's) with Weasley. His evenings were far more pleasurable, for they had been spent learning sign language with Jean and Hermione, enjoying a dinner with the Grangers, and being forced to watch Star Trek.

It wasn't too awful, but whether that was the show itself or the small woman burrowing under his arm, he couldn't say.

He had also perfected the formula he would be using for his revenge on Weasley. Being hugged by him had been painfully mortifying, even if it hadn't been brought up later. Surely, by now, George considered himself in the clear.

Foolish, foolish Gryffindor.

His plan was already underway, and it would be near-impossible for the man to place the blame on his shoulders. Absolutely perfect.

* * *

He did have misgivings about the sheer number of people that would be present at Hermione's flat that evening. She had been quite clear that Potter, Weasley, Weasley, Weasley, would be present, as would the twit (as he'd taken referring to her) who worked across from her, George's girlfriend, as well as both Longbottom and Lovegood.

Severus had asked if Hermione would like to spend the morning with him, but she'd confessed that she needed to run to the shops in order to provide edible food.

"I don't cook well," she'd texted, "but I can manage meats and cheeses and a dip."

In the end, he'd offered to make preparations in her kitchen, and that was how he'd come to be standing in Hermione's kitchen, alone, wearing an apron around his waist while she fetched groceries. Black, of course, thought it had not begun that way. Sometimes a little wand-waving was necessary in order to preserve both his dignity and his sanity.

Overall, it was better to volunteer to use his culinary skills than to risk poisoning by whatever "dip" she picked up.

Perhaps he should offer to teach her to cook.

Severus entertained himself with idle thoughts of spending time in the kitchen with Hermione – her counter was a _fantastic_ height, to his mind – while he stirred the mixture in the pan. Assuming her oven was charmed to maintain the correct temperatures (and it was...now), he should be finished long before Hermione's guests arrived.

"That smells excellent!" Hermione exclaimed as she popped into the living room. "Severus, what are you making?"

He gestured with one pale hand to the parchment on the counter. Covered in his spiky scrawl, it listed his creations and his own shorthand for timing and ingredients necessary.

"Stuffed mushrooms? Twice-baked potatoes? That's incredible! I can only manage spaghetti," she peered over his shoulder at the pan and he scowled at her, shooing her away. "This entire _list_ looks amazing! Our guests are going to love it."

She walked past him to the opposite counter, leaving him to stare at her as she washed celery from the store. _Our__ guests? _Hermione made a face when she saw that the knife was in use, and Transfigured a new one from a butter knife.

He watched her a minute longer as she began to cut the stalks into pieces appropriate for dipping before turning back to the sausage mixture he was working on. This was...nice. Peaceful. This could work, as well. Why teach her to cook when he could spend days like this? Dividing the tasks? He hissed through his teeth as he nearly cut his finger on the knife he was using for the potatoes.

Merlin, that was a stupid error. Scowling at himself, Severus stalked to the fridge to see if the eggs were cool enough yet for deviling.

* * *

The party was surprisingly...nice, he supposed. He managed polite conversation via parchment or stilted signing with Hermione, sipping the chilled beverage they had concocted. George was having a terrible evening, Potter had apologised for cornering him in the kitchen and hadn't asked about Hermione, and the other two Weasleys were behaving themselves.

Lovegood was attempting to study the cobwebs behind the bookshelf, something about brusk cogs, she'd explained dreamily, and Longbottom had ceased to shake like a leaf if Severus happened to be scowling in his direction. He'd even attempted awkward conversation with him.

It was bloody odd, so he finally retreated to the kitchen to check the stasis charms. No one'd said outright that he'd provided the warm items for consumption, but the reaction to them had been...favorable. When was the last time he had cooked for a group? Probably the first staff parties at Hogwarts... they still hadn't been more than coldly polite, so he'd decided it was a waste of time and effort, not to mention food.

Watching the party was entertaining, at the least. Hermione was currently talking to the twit Ronald was dating from her work – what was her name...ah, yes, Martha _Poppins_. The woman was pleasant enough, in a 'I-want-to-snuggle-all-the-babies' way, and thankfully not too saccharine. Potter was acting strange around Ginevra – _Oh, Merlin, he is, isn't he?_ - and watching George attempt to speak to Angelina.

Oh, that was the icing on the proverbial cake. Watching George attempt _anything_ regarding a longish, cylindrical object. He'd been complaining that he was perplexed by the problem. He could not grasp a quill, his wand, his _other_ wand, the stem of a champagne flute, a normal glass... none of it. They slipped from his fingers as if greased, or repelled.

It was working perfectly, even if he _did_ have to overhear the story of George attempting to relieve himself in the morning when he made this horrific discovery. And overhear him muttering to Angelina that he wasn't certain he'd be able to...perform that evening. That _had_ been a bit much.

Luckily for George – and for Angelina – it would wear off about midnight, assuming he'd gotten the dosage correct. And it was a _very_ slim chance he hadn't, with George. The dose of the items he'd sent to Flint through the Wheezes' discreet and anonymous ordering/shipping however, he'd definitely tampered with.

He couldn't bloody wait.

About a quarter to midnight, Hermione asked what everyone's resolutions were. This was met with laughs and groans, and a smirk from himself. Clearly, she pestered _all_ of them, every year.

"Well, I'm going to find the perfect ring and propose to Ginny," Potter shouted, toasting his glass into the air. Everyone laughed, and Severus narrowed his eyes. _Cheeky bastard_.

Ginevra shoved Potter playfully, and Severus shot a spell out to protect Hermione's computer from the resulting slosh. Hermione noticed, giving him a grateful smile, even as Ginevra announced her intent to move out of the Burrow.

Ronald claimed that he was going to go up a rank in the Aurors. Plausible. His date said she wanted to learn to knit, prompting Hermione to dart to the bookshelf and hand her a stack of books. George wanted to come up with new products – carefully not looking at Severus when he said it.

They went on, the resolutions ranging from possible to downright stupid. Severus pondered his own. To perfect signing, perhaps, for public listening. Privately, he resolved to keep Hermione.

"Severus?" Hermione asked, smiling at him.

Carefully schooling his features into disdain, he signed, _to perfect signing. _She smiled wider. "Show off."

He raised and dropped an eyebrow in minute shrug. Seeing the rest of them looking confused, Hermione raised her own glass. "And _I_ will continue on as I have been, for I am happy with how things are, and they can only improve!"

"Our 'Mione, not nitpick things?" Ronald laughed. Severus scowled. She was _his_ Hermione, sod it all.

"How much time is left?" Hermione asked, smacking the Weasley of questionable intellect over the head with one of the knitting books. Potter cast a modified Tempus, letting it hang in the air for all the see.

"One minute!" the boy proclaimed. "Nice timing, 'Mione!"

She stuck her tongue out at him as they all edged to the middle of the room, and she worked her way to the outside of the makeshift circle next to him. Severus looked down as she twined her fingers with his, and he squeezed gently.

"Thirty seconds!" It was not as uncomfortable as he though it would have been, standing in Hermione's flat with her friends. He wasn't a pariah anymore, and while it was unsettling, it was not an unwelcome shift.

"Fifteen!" hollered George, pulling Angelina close.

It seemed like everyone was pairing off. They were all _couples_, Severus realised suddenly as Longbottom wrapped an arm around Lovegood. This was alright, then. He'd been somehow, oddly, accepted as Hermione's partner. A sense of peace tentatively stole over him as someone called ten.

"Nine!"

Her fingers tightened around his.

"Eight!"

She was blushing, and he tried to stop the warmth in his own face.

"Seven!"

"Six!"

Hermione turned to look at him.

"Five!"

Oh, Merlin, was that_ his_ heartbeat in his ears?

"Four!"

Her lips parted.

"Three!"

Oh, hell, she closed her eyes.

"Two!"

He bent lower.

"ONE!"

"Happy New Year!" came the chorus, and someone (most likely a Weasley) set off a noisemaker.

He kissed her.

She kissed him back. Here, in front of everyone, and she drew back too soon for his liking, watching him carefully with warm eyes. Severus bent and kissed her again, hard and swift.

The noise died down, and Potter finally stopped mauling his girlfriend, took her hand, and got down on one knee.

"Oh, not this again, Harry!" Ginevra tried to tug her hand away, but he held fast. "Every year...I keep telling you, not til you have a ruddy ring!"

Hermione made a noise of exasperation, and Severus rolled his eyes. Every year? What in Merlin's name did she see in him?

"Then it's tradition!" Harry grinned. "But you see – I've done it, this year."

And he pulled out that little black box., flipping it open.

"It was my mothers," he told her softly, as the girl just stood there shocked and quiet. "It's been passed down through the family, so it's nothing fancy. But, apparently, it's a family tradition for my mum's side. Ginevra Molly Weasley... will you marry me? Become my family?"

"Oh, yes, Harry! Yes, yes, yes!" She knocked him over, managing to shove the couch back several feet as the assembled men and women cheered the couple.

Hermione squeezed his hand tightly, eyes shining with tears that must have been from gaiety, for she was smiling. "So _that's_ what you did... you wonderful man, Severus, bringing that to him."

She tugged him into the hallway. "That – oh, finally, I'm so happy for them..." and she pulled his face down for a succession of kisses that nearly made him light-headed. Pushing her against the wall, Severus took over, kissing her the way he'd learned she liked, tasting her, nibbling on her lips and sucking it into his mouth gently.

_Perfect, delicious, wonderful woman_.

He pressed flush against her, his hips jerking of their own volition against her. She moaned, deep and sexy in her throat, fisting her hands in his hair to keep him there. Her body fit against his, and now Hermione was rubbing - _oh, fuck _- against his cock, making little noises in the back of her throat.

It spurred him on and he forgot Potter, forgot the Weasleys and their dates and even Lovegood and that Longbottom was technically unchaperoned near a cauldron. All that he could think of was the woman in his arms who was so tight to him, who was managing to wriggle a hand down to touch his back, sliding it to his chest...

As is by instinct, he found his own hands wandering her waist, barely brushing those perfect, lovely breasts.

"OI! Snape's snogging 'Mione!" Ronald shouted from the entrance of the hallway and they broke apart, gasping. Hermione burrowed her face in his neck – the side without the scarring, how did she always know? - and sighed in annoyance.

"Yes, Ronald, _thank you_ for that, Ronald," she said finally. "_Sod off, Ronald_."

The redhead in question backed off, well-acquainted with the temper of both parties he'd interrupted. Hermione giggled into his neck.

"Sorry -" she started, but he kissed her again, wincing as his nose bumped hers briefly. He pulled back.

_Don't be,_ he signed. _You are not at fault._

"Can we continue this later?" she asked, casting a discreet look down the hall.

_If you think otherwise, you are quite mistaken._

"Happy New Year, Severus."

_Happy New Year, Hermione._

* * *

Phew, another chapter down! Hoping to get a few more out this week, wish me luck, eh?


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note: ow, my fingers.

* * *

**CHAPTER 16**

For Severus, the next few days were exhausting. It wasn't that being awake past midnight was unusual – he _was_ prone to bouts of insomnia, after all – or that he'd spent more time awake with himself and his fantasies, either. It was the sheer amount of _work_ he was doing.

Between signing lessons, Hogwarts brewing, working with George, and the sudden cases at St Mungos' – every dunderhead and their acquaintance seemed to have managed to spectacularly poison themselves by combining alcohol, sobering and nausea potions combined with whatever else they thought would cure them when all they needed was fucking _time _– he was exhausted. Sitting on the Grangers's couch every night was a welcome relief, even if he was embarrassingly aware that he was near-dozing by the end of the evening. He hadn't been so stressed since the war, and it was causing a resurgence of nightmares. Made for the strangest damned fantasies.

George had burst into the laboratory that morning and shouted, "IT WAS YOU!" with far too much drama. Severus had raised an exhausted eyebrow, dismissed him, and went back to work. _Three days to narrow it to me. Interesting._

"No! It was you! It _had _to be you! It was perfect, it was _brilliant_, it – oh, don't ignore me, Snape!" Sighing, Severus flicked his wand at the chalkboard.

**And what, pray tell, was me, Mister Weasley?**the chalk scraped the spidery writing with as much emphasis as he could put into it.

"The prank! Hermione wouldn't do it, Harry didn't do it, and, sorry, Ron's not _smart _enough to do it. If it was Gin, she'd have just hexed me, Dad would have sat me down for a talking to, Mum would have walloped me with a spoon...and the only _other_ person whose skin I could have gotten under who'd be _able_ to prank me is _you!_"

George panted after forcing all of that out, and Severus rolled his eyes. "I mean – I don't know _what_ exactly you did to me, but, Snape, you're the only one good enough!"

_Merlin, save me from the dramatics of fools..._ The board wiped itself clean, and the chalk scrawled once more. **Do you really think that highly of yourself? I am certain that you are quite easily taken as a fool.**

"Don't let the suit fool you," George said with a grin. "Fred and I honed our pranking on each other before moving to Perce and Ron. I am _very_ hard to prank – but _you_ did it, and I want to know how. It was _brilliant_! We could _easily_ add whatever you did to our line!"

Severus added the wort and began stirring the cauldron. This proved to be quite entertaining – George knew better than to interrupt him when stirring, and was practically vibrating with anticipation for him to finish. He didn't truly _need_ to count the strokes for most brews anymore. It was instinct by now, and it was, frankly, amusing as hell to watch people try to wait patiently.

He took his time, carefully wiping down the purified wooden rod and lowering the flame under the cauldron. The chalk sprang into life once more. **I want you to abolish the Love Potions.**

George groaned. "No, no, no, no – they're a top-seller!"

Severus snarled. **They're **_**wrong**_**. They're underhanded, and you're selling them to **_**children**_**, Mister Weasley. **

"Do you have something _better_, Snape?"

**Yes.**

George blinked, clearly taken aback. "You do?"

He underlined the word on the board, then tossed a roll of parchment to him. Which slipped from George's hands; the redhead swore under his breath. Severus's lips twitched. Clearly, his employer hadn't checked the handle of his infrequently-used comb, and the efficacy of the salve was longer than he'd calculated. _Must have been the powdered root_, he noted smugly. It clearly had effect longer than anticipated, even though the results were lesser with time. Good thing he'd planted the salve before a date when George would be pressed to comb his hair, if only for Hermione's party. It had been rather ingenious, albeit difficult to sneak into the man's loo in the wee hours of the morning.

Red eyebrows nearly met red hair. "This is – Snape, this is _great!_ Fantastic! Sublime! Fred's dancing a jig up there, this is super! Have you had a chance to test it yet?"

Severus shook his head, waving a hand at the board. **Not as of yet, no. Soon, however.**

"How long did you spend on this, anyway?"

**A little over two years.**

"You _really_ hate that we sell love potions, don't you?"

Severus's lips twisted into a sneer. **Damn right, I do.**

It was just...wrong. It _wasn't_ harmless, as those who had been under their influence would contest. He'd spent long enough watching people act under Imperio to condone anything else that removed free will. The damn potions should be restricted, or repurposed. He saw no harm in using Amortentia as a base in colognes or perfumes, and found they did make pleasant candles – _perhaps I should make one for Hermione? No – if she doesn't smell me, I would not wish to know...but now I'm curious, damn it_ – but to use them to inspire feelings of 'love', no matter how short-lived, bothered his battered conscience.

He waved George to start bottling the contents of the cauldron as an owl bearing a letter with St Mungos' seal soared through the ventilation window. Damn and blast, that was _six _today! Didn't _anyone_ read the dosages on potions? Why must they compound their mini-overdoses until they poisoned themselves with whatever combination of concoctions their gulped into their gullets? The little shits deserved to suffer...

Pulling his frock coat down from the peg by the door with a scowl, he heard George holler as he Apparated; "OI! Don't think I haven't forgotten about your bloody prank, you wanker!"

* * *

Thankfully, the idiots stopped overdosing on medicinal potions, and he'd made excuses to Hermione and her parents for a few evenings to attain some much-needed rest. He still wrote her, her owl patiently waiting for his missives, but he desperately needed rest. He missed her a great deal; he'd quickly grown accustomed to being near her.

It was somewhat alarming, the alacrity with which she'd been woven into his life as a would-be lover, but he tried to not let it bother him. He'd been quickly consumed by his last friendship with a female, as well, so at least he was consistent.

She had, however, asked if he had plans for his birthday, and, if not, would he care to spend the evening with her? He'd answered in the affirmative. Assuming their date on the seventh went well, he would have the eighth to...well, sulk, for lack of a better term, and the ninth to spend with his love.

And today was the sixth. One more day.

* * *

The evening had been pleasant. Hermione had joined him after work, and he'd made chicken paired with potatoes. She'd praised his cooking, even though she had done half of the preparation, chopping and dicing. It was been quite companionable in the small kitchen, and he'd enjoyed having her in his home once more.

They'd spoken of her work over dinner and dessert, and of his over a slow glass of wine. She'd been surprised when he'd shyly confessed to working with George, but said it made perfect sense, and explained the rise in quality and the surprisingly brilliant additions to the line.

"George and Fred had good ideas, but they've always been relatively well, in-your-face about it," she'd told him. "The newer products are more finessed. They're not as hurtful as some of the others are, it's nice to see the variety. I should have guessed _you_ were behind it."

Severus had smirked, and explained his hopeful new replacement for the bloody love potions. Hermione had been thrilled and in complete agreement with his stance on them.

"Have you tested them yet?" she'd asked curiously. He'd shaken his head, and stiltedly outlined his plan to test the formula. She'd agreed to arrange it, and he'd smiled at her willingness to use her best friend as an unwitting gudgeon . Granted, he was _mostly _certain that nothing in the ingredient list would prove fatal (barring an allergic reaction), and if the formula worked, it should help to smooth over some of the rough patches between them. The things he did for this woman...

He shook his head again, this time ruefully, lank strands falling into his face. Hermione smiled at him, and reached up to tuck it behind his ear, and his breath caught. Before he could think about it, he'd cupped her cheek in his hand and kissed her.

Flushing with his indiscretion and lack of control, he pulled back... until he saw her face. Hermione's eyes were still closed, lips slightly parted, cheeks pinkened. Her lashes fluttered, and he bent to kiss her again.

Her skin felt smooth beneath his fingers, her lips warm and soft as they parted beneath his. She tasted of chocolate and the wine they'd had. _Utterly delicious_. Exhaling in pleasure, he cautiously slid his other hand to her waist, caressing her with his thumbs.

She made a sighed softly into his mouth, and ran her hands over his back, edging dangerously close to where his shirt tucked into his trousers.

It was incredible to Severus to feel wanted. Hermione went pliant under his touch, encouraged him with her actions, her small hands pulling him close. Such sweet sounds she made as he explored her waist, sliding a hand slowly to cup a breast. His heart pounded; she arched herself into his hand, and he brushed a nipple – _oh,_ _Merlin_ – and kneaded her gently.

Soft, so soft, and somehow she was in his lap once more and now both of his hands were occupied with Hermione's wonderful breasts. Was that him panting? Or her? He didn't remember sliding his hands _under _her shirt.

Her skin-! Smooth. Warm. Her hips were moving, rubbing against him, and he was _aching_, he was so hard. This was better than any dream, any fantasy. She was here, she was real, curls falling around them both, her bra satin-slick under his hands. Heart thudding in his ears, blood pounding in his veins, he deepened the kiss.

Cupping both breasts, he felt her pebbled nipples, and she moaned, _moaned_, into the kiss, before breaking away. He immediately removed his hands and touched her cheek gently. He would have placed money on being as flushed as she was.

Hermione smiled shyly at him, catching her breath.

Severus gave her a small smile in return.

* * *

He hated the day before his birthday.

Loathed it. Despised it. Abhorred it.

He'd slammed cupboards at work all morning. Snarled and scowled and sneered to the point that Weasley had fucked off and left him the hell alone, like he 'clearly wanted to be'.

Which was the crux of the matter; he did not wish to be alone, not today. He was sullen, he was angry, and everything felt raw and painful. He'd tried to buffer the emotions with memories from last night after they'd cautiously backed off, aroused and shy, but it wasn't _helping_.

Albus would have told him to "talk about it". He didn't _want_ to talk about it. He wanted to sulk. He wanted to rage, the same as every year.

Merlin, he needed Hermione. Scowling, he flipped open his mobile and punched the keys viciously.

"I need you," he sent simply. He didn't care if he was at work, and should be brewing Wonder Witch products. The hormonal brats could stand to wait for their bloody Pimple Vanisher.

"You never text me during the day – are you alright?" Hermione texted him back fairly quickly. He consoled himself with a mental image of her picking up her mobile with one of her soft smiles, only for it to turn to concern. It was nice to think someone would be concerned for his well-being.

"Today is...not a good day for me." He hesitated to share more, but Albus's ghost would not be stopped, and clearly, Hermione was perfectly trustworthy. "Today is the twenty-fifth anniversary of my parents' death."

"Have you had lunch yet?" she replied.

"No – are you free?"

"I will be after one," came the answer. "Is the tea house alright?"

"Yes," he typed tersely and stomped his way back to the brewing table. Briefly considering purposely brewing the formula wrong – it was a _joke_ shop, surely no one would complain if it was a Ten-Second Pimple _Creator_ – he buried his face in his hands.

* * *

_I was not close to my parents_, he signed as she stirred cream into her tea. _My father was an abusive asshole, and my mother was useless and uninterested in anything having to do with my well-being. This should not bother me._

"But it does, clearly." Hermione offered him the plate of sandwiches. He plucked a few with a sneer, hunching in his seat. They'd chosen a secluded corner, and it suited him. "How did they pass?"

_My mother was a coward._ He fingers formed the letters angrily, matching the scowl etched across his features. _At least she had the decency to wait until I would be of age in the Muggle world._

"Severus..." her tone was soft, eyes concerned, at the exaggerated sarcasm he tried to convey.

_I was going to leave. I was going to bloody get out, and she trapped me there with legalities! I had to give up the _ - he faltered and wound up spelling it out – _Apprenticeship! I had to obtain Mastery through independent study instead; I was fortunate that Lucius bankrolled me. _ Eileen had quietly taken her husband with her the eve of his eighteenth birthday, while he was away for his seventh year. The news had caused him to pitch a raging, screaming fit in the common room. Once he left school, he would be – and was – bogged down in legal process for the house, his pitiful "inheritance". No magic around the Muggles. No Apprenticeship in Wales. Just gratitude towards Lucius, an overwhelming anger at both parents, and spite to his mother for marrying that pathetic excuse for a Muggle in the first place.

He'd hated his father, been apathetic towards his mother. Both were people who had let him down, hurt him, neglected him, abused him, and, upon reflection, left him easy prey for The Dark Lord. Kind words and a sense of caring for his well-being had been as addictive as a drug for him.

Hermione reached across the table and grasped his hand. "I'm sorry for your loss, Severus. They're gone, and they cannot hurt you; is there anything I can do for you?"

_I want real parents,_ he realised suddenly, and pulled his hand free to answer her.

_I want to know family. I want to know what it is like for everyone else, what it should have been. _She gave him a watery smile and opened her mobile.

"Let's see if Mum and Dad will host a family night, then. How do you feel about pizza?"

It wasn't until she walked around the table and wiped his cheek with the scarf she'd given him and he still wore almost daily that he realised he was crying.

* * *

The night previous had been...cathartic. They'd eaten pizza, no one had pressured him to speak of his parents, and Hermione had not volunteered the reason behind an 'impromptu family night' in front of him, although he was certain that she'd told her parents via text after their lunch.

He'd won at Parcheesi, lost at Monopoly, and had been happily informed by Anthony that he was still 'Scotty' and he had best 'suck it up'.

All in all it had been pleasant. He'd been tense, as unsure of his welcome as he had been the first and only time Lily had invited her dirty, mis-matched friend home. Petunia'd thrown such a fuss that he hadn't been invited back.

But the Grangers were warm. Welcoming. At one point, while Hermione and her mother had gone to set the table, Anthony had looked over at him, and asked "So, how long until we can make you official?"

Severus's cheeks still burned at the memory. Was he really so obvious?

But today was his birthday. George had popped his head in briefly, and informed him that his present that he wouldn't rag on him about divulging his secrets of his prank today. Jean and Anthony had said birthday wishes to him before his departure the previous evening, and he had spent his day anticipating spending the evening at Hermione's flat.

It was with a smirk that he'd allowed her to make spaghetti, and Hermione had provided a somewhat-lopsided but edible cake. She assured him that she had baked it last night after he'd left, under the supervision of her mother (who had tried to insist that fruit would be better for their teeth), and that while it was, of course, not up to Severus's skills, it was at the very least not likely to poison them.

And if he was honest, he'd never had a cake with candles, nor had someone sung him a birthday song.

Even before the card, or the gift of the book they were thumbing through, it was by far the happiest birthday of his life.

"Oh! I nearly forgot," Hermione said, leaning over to the small purse on the coffee table. "Here."

She handed him a vial with a single strand of black hair. "Ginny got it for me, says she's one hundred percent certain it's his. I had to promise not to poison him, or use it in Polyjuice... and she _swears _it's from his head, and not, well... you know."

He gave the vial a withering look, verified that it had an Unbreakable charm, and tucked it into a pocket. Soon, he would be able to test his formula. In the mean time, however...Hermione was looking at him expectantly, and he couldn't help but oblige her with a kiss, then another, and another.

Severus loved being able to kiss her. It was torment, too, to stop each time, to pull away flushed with arousal and longing. But it was worth it. He would gladly spend the night alone in his bed, fucking his fist to fantasies of his love if the alternative was no kisses from Hermione at all.

Lithe fingers pulled away his scarf, then tangled in his hair before he could even tense at the loss of the minimal protection it offered. He sighed, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. She tasted of cake and tea, and underneath, of pasta and something subtly Hermione. Stroking his fingers over her cheek, he rested his hand at the back of her head and slid his tongue along hers. _Delicious_.

Whimpering, Hermione tugged him closer as he plundered her mouth. He gathered her closer in his arms and broke apart to kiss her neck. When he'd surreptitiously read up on what a man and woman did together in his youth, he had been admittedly slightly disgusted – who'd want to lick another person, to have their saliva on their skin? But now... oh, now he craved to taste her as he darted his tongue behind her ear, wanted to mark her, even as he sucked on the hollow where her shoulder met her neck. A little pink mark blossomed under his lips. _Mine_.

"Severus," Hermione whispered, angling her head to kiss the good side of his neck. He tipped his head back in pleasure. Her kisses were gentle, and when she reached the collar of his shirt and tried to move it away he bent his head to look at her and kiss her again.

_Lovely_, he thought as his own eyes closed once more. His world narrowed to Hermione, to this couch – the little noises in the back of her throat, her hands tugging his shirt from his waistband, her touch on his searing flesh...Oh, Merlin, when was the last time someone had touched his skin?

He _hungered_ for her, and slid his own fingers beneath the knit wool shielding her skin from him. Her stomach jumped as her breath hitched, and he took his time, gentling his kisses. Fingers sliding higher, she kissed him deeply, pulling him atop her.

_Oh, fuck_ – she wasn't wearing a bra. Nothing. Was that planned on her part? Or had she banished it? Oh, sweet Merlin...Soft, so, so soft. Warm and silky, the tips rough and pointed. Tentatively, he rolled one in his fingers, and she arched up into his touch.

Panting harshly, he broke away to toss his hair back, a lost cause, as it fell forward as he kissed her again. Cupping her breast once more, squeezing and kneading gently, he realised that not only was he atop her – _oh, Merlin_ – but she was rubbing herself against his leg, and if he pressed down on her more, his cock would rub against her. Would she mind?

_Sod it_ – Severus let more of his weight fall on a whimpering, moaning Hermione. The friction of her body, her warmth, against his cock was incredible. He exhaled harshly, feeling lightheaded as he stole her breath from her very lips with his kisses.

Hermione broke their kiss with a gasp, pushing him away. She tugged off her jumper before he could retreat, and he took it as a sign to remove his own garment. Marveling at the look of her, pink cheeks, swollen lips and dark eyes, he didn't feel as self-conscious as he'd thought he would. Instead, he felt powerful despite the tented trousers clinging to his hips.

She was beautiful. She had a few scars of her own – one pale between her breasts – and he was pleasantly surprised to see exactly how far her blush went. Noticing the trace of shyness in her expression, he lifted his hands. _You're beautiful,Hermione_, he signed. She smiled.

"So are you..." she reached out a hand to stroke his shoulder, his chest, her eyes full of wonder.

_She thinks I am beautiful_? He was awed by her. Humbled. She was perfect, and he – he was not. But still, she loved him, found a beauty in him, and he pulled her against him for a kiss. Hermione moaned at the feel of being skin to skin with him, and he explored her back with his hands.

_Glorious, wondrous woman... _Somehow, they were back as they had been, entwined on the couch. Had one of them cast an enlarging charm on it? He hadn't thought so, but it was possible for it be – oh, it was hard to think when her fingers brushed his nipples – spontaneous magic – _ah, oh, that's lovely_ – and he couldn't concentrate, not when she was writhing under him.

Her breasts fascinated him. Their weight. Their texture. He ducked his head, smirking wickedly as Hermione held her breath. Pressing sweet kisses to the swell of her breasts, he pushed them together, flicking his tongue out as he made his way to her nipples, dusky rose against the pink blush of her skin.

Severus should have been mortified to realise that she was grinding against his leg as he rubbed himself against her, but he was too absorbed by what he was doing to her with lips and teeth and tongue. The flesh of her held his teeth marks, and she made delightfully arousing moans when he sucked each nipple in turn.

"Amazing, Severus," she whimpered, nearly pulling his hair. He left little love bites on her, needing to mark her, claim her. _Mine_.

Following the pull of his hair, he pressed closer to her and kissed her deeply, passionately, as something broke in them. Hermione was whimpering, nearly sobbing as he thrust against her. In his lust-addled brain, he realised that with the construction of her Muggle jeans, the seam was pressing against where her clit would be, and – _Oh, Merlin, oh god, oh **fuck**_** – **she was getting off on him.

His cock throbbed at the thought. He could do this, bring her to orgasm. Her body under his was amazing; he angled his leg slightly awkwardly, and she bucked underneath him. She tore her mouth from his, burrowed her face in his neck, and met him thrust for thrust, chanting his name.

Severus grit his teeth together; shit, fuck, he was close. Even as his trousers slid lower, even with the sticky wetness clinging to his undergarments, he couldn't bring himself to care. This felt good. Amazing. Her breath on his neck, the hard little nipples digging into the hair of his chest, the fingers clutching his back and threatening to leave bruises – _yes, mark me, **claim **__me, Hermione_ – it felt so good.

Praying to bring her to completion, he kept moving, lips worshiping her neck, her ear, even as his cock throbbed and balls tightened. Just as he thought he would fail, Hermione arched in his arms, keening his name. He pulled his head back to watch her - she was beautiful in her pleasure. Her eyes fell shut, her head tipped back, those curls tangled and sweaty and her nails bit into his back.

_Oh, fuck, oh yes, yes, yes, Hermione, **yes, Hermione**-! _He thrust once more, hard and inelegant against her, body stiffening and cock pulsing in his pants. Hips jerking against her, he panted harshly in his own orgasm, his first with the aid of another, and he nearly blacked out with the sensations. Severus didn't even have time to feel shame at having come in his trousers like a hormonal adolescent - Hermione laughed breathlessly, joyfully, and pulled him down for another kiss.

Oh yes, most definitely the best birthday he'd ever had.

* * *

The memory of his birthday kept him occupied throughout the next few days – he had fuel for nightly fantasies for quite some time to come. Afterward, she'd been shy, breathless, and had confessed to never having done that before...or any of it. Awkward touches, she'd confessed to, as well as heated kisses. But finding completion in another's arms? Baring herself to them? No.

She was pure and untouched and clearly his, and he swung between thrilled that physical expressions of love were something they could explore together, and worrying that he would somehow taint her.

Granted, the erections accompanying the memories were inopportune, and he'd been very grateful that Jean conducted lessons at the dining room table, else he would have had to have suffered the indignity of a lace-edged pastel-floral throw pillow in his lap.

He was becoming proficient quite quickly – the benefits of an excellent memory and dextrous fingers, which he'd caught Hermione staring at with a lusty expression more than once. Severus had even found himself forcing down the urge to slip into her mind to see what, exactly, darkened her eyes and made her lips part unconsciously.

Trying not to ponder her thoughts kept him busy during their lunches, which had increased in frequency, and their dinners, some with her parents, some without. Hell, he'd even become so accustomed to be referred to as 'Scotty' that his hand no longer twitched towards his wand with a hex.

And, thankfully, this weekend she'd arranged for Potter to visit her flat. He was fairly certain that she had an ulterior motive for doing so, but at the very least, he'd be able to test his formula, with a reliable witness.

* * *

"_Pregnant?!"_ Hermione was shrieking into the Floo as he Apparated into her flat. "Harry James Potter, don't you _dare_ think you're skiving this meeting just because RONALD went and got Martha up the duff! I swear, I'll pull you through this bloody fireplace by your _ear!_"

Vague grumbling came from the fireplace, and Hermione pulled her head out, fuming.

"Hello, Severus, sorry – Ronald's a _prat_! HARRY, GET OVER HERE, NOW!" Severus rolled his eyes and sprawled gracefully on her sofa, propping his feet on the table. The emerald flames flared brighter, and Potter emerged, glasses askew.

"No need to yell, 'Mione – I've had Gin shrieking my ear off all afternoon about it." _Ah, she takes after her mother. How charming. Not too late to back out, Potter..._ Straightening his clothes and glasses, Potter brushed off the soot. Severus's lip curled, and he waved his hand negligently, removing the traces from Hermione's carpet.

"Before we start," Hermione said, "have a piece of chocolate, Harry. Severus made them."

Potter looked at them suspiciously. _Eat it, Potter._

"Oh, Harry, he's not going to _poison_ you!"

"I know..."

"He didn't poison anyone at New Years', did he?"

_No one except Flint, and that was intentional._

Severus waited until Potter met his eyes dubiously, then held a similar piece up. He took a bite, Potter followed suit.

Hmm. Not to bad, the hint of crystallized ginger flavor was a nice touch, and chocolates would certainly ensnare males or females. Perhaps he should try other flavors as well – a caramel would go well. The texture was good, and Potter was certainly chewing avidly, thankfully with his mouth closed.

No tingling of the tongue, good sign. Hermione was watching them both carefully, and he was aware of the bezoar she had clutched in her first, and he'd passed her an allergy potion as well. He didn't think Potter was allergic to the ingredients – hell, most people weren't, it's why he'd adapted the ones he had - but it was highly unlikely that he'd be welcome anywhere but Azkaban if he killed the boy, even if it _was_ accidental.

Ah, there was the peaceful feeling he'd been expecting. So far, so good. And...yes. There it was. He signaled Hermione's attention.

_It's like...yawning. When you first wake up,_ he signed quickly. _You're receptive. Calm. No sense of _ - he spelled it for her – _coercion. _

Potter – Harry – was watching him curiously. "How long did it take to learn that? The sign language bit, I mean?"

Severus shrugged and reached for his quill. "Since Christmas," he wrote. He studied the boy, and was unable to summon hatred, nor even antipathy, for him. There, his jaw – that was set a bit more like Lily's than James', and his hands, too. Yes, it was easier to see past his looks, now. He considered what he knew of Harry's – yes, impossible to be acrimonious and think of him only as 'Potter' – personality.

Mostly loyal to his friends – _Oh, good, it doesn't blow things out of proportion_ – and self-sacrificing. Surprisingly generous. Patient. And he did do right by most he came into contact with. And forgiving; more so than his mother. Yes, much easier now to see him. Not Potter. Not Lily's son.

Just Harry.

Severus turned to Hermione and smiled slightly. _Success, _he signed. _It works perfectly._

"This is...weird," Harry said. "Like, really weird. Something's...shifted, kind of."

He came closer, peering over his glasses at Severus himself. "_You're_...not weird, just...different."

"Different how?" Hermione asked, her own quill poised on parchment.

"Like...Snape...but...S-Severus," the boy faltered over his name, and Severus scrawled a sentence.

"You may call me by my name."

"I can?" Joy lit Harry's features. "I feel like I should be apologising, but that it's not exactly..necessary."

"Go sit down, Harry," he wrote this one fluidly. "And we shall explain."

The boy took the news that he'd been more or less drugged against his will rather well, and was quite impressed. He'd agreed that he'd felt open to ideas, but not coerced, and confirmed that it did bleed over to others, even though with the addition of a sample it had indeed targeted Severus.

Even better, the effects remained. It was as if, once having seen the, well, not exactly the truth of things, but the other side, it was impossible to go back to thinking what he had before. He'd lost the lingering hatred, and, thankfully, the hefty dose of hero-worship.

Oh, yes, it worked perfectly. George could take his fucking love potion line and shove them up his arse until his navel sang his praises.

* * *

Alright, so... I'd meant to get to Valentine's Day in time. Clearly, Severus had his own agenda, but I shall ATTEMPT to get there by the weekend.

In the interim, I do hope you enjoyed this extra-long chapter..and Happy Valentine's Day!


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: Hello! My nerdy piano music was approved by the chapel music director. No Harry Potter music in the ceremony, but our first dance will be the Potter Waltz. In the ceremony, we'll feature music from Disney, the old movie Dune, the BBC show Sherlock, Stargate SG-1... and we'll be walking down the aisle to music from Guild Wars & Guild Wars 2, and we'll end with the Throne Room music from Star Wars IV. 56 days to go as of 15 Feb!

* * *

**CHAPTER 17**

George was not pleased to hear about his "idiot brother" knocking up his girlfriend (Molly was ecstatic at another baby to dote upon), but thrilled by both the what he called 'No-Grip Slip' prank Severus had used against him, and by the chocolates, which had worked perfectly. So perfectly, in fact, that Severus was giving real consideration to Potter's request.

Despite the initial outrage for the discontinuation of the love potions and their ilk, the chocolates were well-received. He'd left the wording for the 'Chance Upon Love' chocolates up to George. He didn't care _how_ the damn things were sold, as long as the Cupid Crystals and their ilk stopped.

The chocolates were simple. Include a sample of yourself when ordering, and receive a single piece of chocolate (caramel, ginger, hazelnut, or plain milk chocolate cream) in return. All it would do would to their potential paramour would be to...broaden their mind, so to speak, to their appeal.

Was it not better, after all, to have a love interest that lasted more than an hour, and did not become angry at having been so manipulated afterward?

The effects were not guaranteed – the object of their affections would _not_ suddenly fall madly in love with them. But they would be seen with new eyes. Where perhaps they would have been overlooked because of their House, or perhaps their physical appearance, or were simply easily written off as unlikeable, they would be realised for who they _were,_ their positive qualities. It meant their requests for a date would be considered fairly, and they could be who they truly were, not who they thought their paramour would like them to be. It was fair, it worked on those who merely held enmity (as demonstrated between himself and Harry), and, frankly, they worked like a bloody charm.

Lavender, for the relaxing effect and overall bouquet, had been inspired, if he said so himself. He actually used honey for the samples – boiling it down to simple sugar infused with the giver's own unique signature, using when making the individual chocolate, rather than the entire batch of potion, ensuring even a single bite would have the appropriate result. Ashwinder eggs and a single drop of Veritaserum. Armadillo bile and scarab beetles with a hint of peppermint. Powdered unicorn horn _and_ moonstone, as well as Shrivelfigs. And that was just the fucking _base_.

It had taken him _two years_ to perfect that bloody formula, _and_ it was patented. They were going to be bloody _rich_... even if he _had_ spent these two weeks approaching Valentine's day buried to his eyes in chocolate. And to think he used to _like_ chocolate. Now he just wanted to take an anti-nausea potion before work and use a Bubble-Head Charm to avoid _smelling_ it.

Valentine's Day – he was bouncing between looking forward to having someone on this day and dreading the possibility that he'd bollocks it up.

He'd looked into what was expected. Candlelight dinners. _Sod it_. Flowers. _Manageable_. Chocolate. _I am sick to death of it, and her parents would frown upon it._ He was _not_ one to shower the floor with rose petals that would be better kept stored for salve-making. He didn't even know what flowers Hermione liked. Perhaps he would give her another pink one, like he had for their date? She would remember, and perhaps find it suitable.

And he wouldn't agonize over it until it was bedraggled and limp in his hands this time.

Severus considered cooking something...special. A roast? If only he had a telly, he would consider watching a film as an excuse to make tea sandwiches and tea cakes, like their first lunch together. He scowled. Too sentimental, and he wasn't going to buy a _bloody telly_ just to be..be..'sweet'! It was absurd.

So, no chocolate. At this rate, the smell alone would make him want to vomit. He hesitated. Perhaps...jewelry? Or was it too soon in their relationship, regardless of how quickly they seemed to be moving? Hermione didn't wear much jewelry, either, he'd noticed. Just earrings. Maybe...maybe earrings? If he _did_ purchase her jewelery, it would have to be Muggle.

Even though after the war the Ministry had pinned enough ribbons on his chest to open a gift shop, he _still _wasn't comfortable in Wizarding public often. Too many stares. Too many people wondering if he was a traitor, a spy, a liar... It made his shoulderblades itch in anticipation of a hex fired between them.

And a jumpy, paranoid, ex-Death Eater was probably not the wisest person to be in a place where, technically, everyone was armed. The Muggle world was easier. No one knew him, no one judged him. Oh, some looked askance at his long hair and somewhat severe manner of dress, but it was shrugged off and they went about their business. His forays into the Wizarding world outside of work were few – bookshops, on occasion, and picking up ingredients in Diagon from the Apothecary. He avoided Knockturn Alley like the plague.

Brooding, he gave the chocolate another stir. Two days to decide what to do. He couldn't just ring a restaurant and make a reservation. Should he have _said _he wanted to do something for the day? Perhaps she had plans...?

Sod it - a stupid, juvenile holiday, filled with cupids and far too much _pink_.

But it was _Hermione_. Surely she would want something special about the day?

And it wouldn't have to be sentimental tripe, either. They'd had wonderful dates. Wonderful kisses, and near-repeats of his birthday (he swore that Ronald Weasley was trying to blue-ball him, with all his Floo calls and impromptu Patronuses.

* * *

By the thirteenth, Hermione had been overjoyed with the invitation to spend the following evening with him at his home, but he still had no idea past that. Past. Hmm. Pasta? Something light? Perhaps shrimp and vegetables tossed with pasta. Light, easily followed with a – _not chocolate! _- dessert and perhaps an evening in front of the fire... Hermione enjoyed Butterbeer, did she not? After work, he would Apparate to Hogsmeade and purchase a few bottles. He would find a florist in Diagon Alley as well. An enchanted pink rose would keep far longer than a Muggle one, and he was shite at preserving _fresh _flowers.

After work. Just a few more hours. His stomach twisted in anxiety – or perhaps it was that he was making _another_ set of chocolates. Romilda Vane had ordered two dozen. Why did that name sound familiar...? Ah, former student. Why in the name of Merlin's twisted toenails did she need _two dozen_?!

* * *

It was raining, and he was miserable. He hated the rain, hated the cold. Gray and damp and drizzling, it was bloody depressing. In this sort of downpour, a Shielding Charm wouldn't do any good, and, really, Warming Charms did _fuck all_ when one was soaked clear through their wiry frame.

At least the hood on his cloak shielded his identity from the florist, and the rose for Hermione was quickly purchased, no questions asked, and wrapped discreetly in waxed paper. The charms protecting it could be removed once it got home, and he wished fervently that such measures would protect _him_ from the rain.

Exiting the shop, he Apparated to Hogsmeade with a crack, nearly slipping in the mud. Clearly, Scotland was just as dreary as London tonight. Scowl deepening the lines in his face, he made his way towards The Three Broomsticks. _All I want is a goddamn flower, and some fucking Butterbeers_, he thought grumpily.

A rather pitiful noise caught his attention, and he discounted it as an animal after a moment, continuing on. The interior of the Broomsticks was bright and warm, and Rosmerta cheerily filled his request without drawing undue attention to him. Really, it was a shame to go back out there just to Apparate, but doing so in an establishment was rather frowned upon.

Sighing, he flicked what water he could off his hood and stepped back into the deluge. Again, that sound caught his attention. Pitiful, and weak, and decidedly cat-like. He stood a moment, debating, then, cursing himself, pulled out his wand.

_Point me_, he thought, focusing on his desire to locate the creature. It led him down the alley by Madam Puddifoot's – _horrid place_ – and, sure enough, in the rain, was a small, bedraggled black-and-orange kitten. It was clearly waterlogged, one ear slightly mangled, and, upon closer inspection, it was injured.

_Damn, damn, damn_. Curse Hermione and her bleeding heart – if he left the bloody thing here, alone and wet and hurt, she'd never know, but _he_ would. And he'd feel like he'd have disappointed her somehow.

Checking over his shoulder for any passer-by, he stowed the bottles in the enlarged pockets of his cloak, knelt, and began making soft kissing noises, hand extended. Another weak, pitiful meow, but it crept slightly closer, limping.

_Come here, you miserable little beast._ _Come on.._it moved closer, whiskers drooped with the weight of the water, nose twitching. _Got you!_ Snagging the little would-be menace by the scruff, he gathered it carefully, pulling it close to his chest, against what little body heat he retained under the cloak.

Severus inspected it. Injured, probably in shock... he sighed. Apparition would be a terrible, horrible idea. Rising to his feet, he focused on the memory of his birthday, Hermione's smile as she sang to him, and cast a Patronus. He watched the light go, following it towards Hogwarts. If he'd done this right, by time he reached the gates, Hagrid should be there, led by the bright doe.

* * *

He was shaking with cold and feeling rather miserly about the whole ordeal. The kitten was trembling in his arms, but had made a half-hearted effort to nibble his fingers. _Damn thing's getting blood on my shirt_.

Hagrid was, indeed, waiting at the gates, tiny pink umbrella perched over his ridiculous mop of hair.

"Hullo, Perfessor Snape!" Hagrid was entirely too cheerful. "Brightest I've seen yeh Patronus, led me right to the gates. "

Severus gestured for the half-giant to bend, lifting his cloak to reveal the kitten.

"Aw, poor little feller." One massive hand scooped it gently out of Severus's arms. "Come on, let's get the two of yeh warmed up." Severus stalked alongside Hagrid towards the hut. He was so cold, he'd even volunteer to drink the tar he tried to pass off as tea.

He drew the line at Hagrid's biscuits, however. His teeth were bad enough as it was.

* * *

_It was worth it_, Severus told himself for the twenty-seventh time that hour, huddled in his bed with the bloody menace. He'd already sent a text to Hermione, apologising, but cancelling their plans due to ill health. He'd spent the entire night and morning and afternoon being utterly miserable and cursing the allergy to Pepper Up that his mother had so generously passed on to him. Not that he had any trouble with the individual ingredients. Oh, no. It was the something about the potion itself, and it left him sick and stuffy and miserable.

At least the pathetic ball of fluff by his side had been adequately patched up by Hagrid. Turned out the damn thing was part kneazle – the runt of a litter Hagrid'd seen around town, after the mother had been caught in someone's Apparition and neatly splinched in twain. The half-giant had attempted to gather all the kittens, despite the fact that none of them had fangs or spat fire or harbored poisoned claws nor sported bat-like wings.

The runt had been the only one he'd been unable to get a hold of, as it had kept backing off, and had been weak and Hagrid had, eventually, given it up as lost. He'd certainly been surprised that it had come to Severus – Hagrid operated under the assumption that all creatures loved him as much as he loved them.

The ear had been a lost cause – slightly mangled now, a little chunk missing, but the kitten was mercifully cleansed of all pests, the fur soft and dry. It still limped a little, but that would pass, Hagrid had assured him.

Intelligent little beast, it had quickly attempted to take over his home. One raised eyebrow and a warning spell later, and the runt had given up, instead deciding that its new position was by Severus's side.

The damn thing snored.

_It was worth it_. He blew his nose once more and sighed. He should try to sleep.

* * *

His mobile was vibrating. That was what was pulling him out of a restless, sweaty sleep. Sighing, he flipped it open. Clearly, he needed to hex her.

"Severus, are you home?"

"Severus, Revelio says you are."

"Severus, let me in!"

"Knock knock!"

"Open up!"

"Severus."

"Are you sleeping?"

"Severus."

"Wake up!"

"Severus."

"Severus."

"Severus."

Oh, yes, several hexes in her future.

"I'm awake now." He cast a quick glance around the room, waving a hand to send his damp clothing to the hamper, rather than allowing them to remain on the floor. Another wave and his door unlocked. Really, he should just give her a bloody key, rather than risk her pulling her wand on a Muggle street. "You may enter."

He heard the door open, close, and the thud of discarded footwear. There was a brief silence, and he imagined Hermione hanging her coat and scarf in the closet beside his. His kitchen drawers slammed shut, and he frowned. What was she up to?

Soft footsteps and a quiet rustling on the stairs, and her hand appeared, rapping on his door.

"Are you decent?" she asked brightly, poking her head in. He gave her a withering look. "I meant _dressed_, Severus."

He dropped his head back to the pillows, then abruptly sat up, sneezing violently into his handkerchief. He missed her dropped jaw as the sheet fell to his waist – he did not, however, missed the hitched breath and darkened eyes at his naked torso.

_Really? I'm sick and you can still find me attractive?_ He gave her a wry look, which he promptly ruined by sniffling.

"I – um, well, it's Valentine's Day, and you're sick, so... I brought it to you." Hermione flushed and held up a bag of take-away.

She'd brought him dinner. Well, _them_ dinner, he supposed, counting the cutlery in her hand. And it was from where they'd had their first date. She gave him a sheepish smile.

"I know, really silly of me, being sentimental and all, but... I figured curry would help unstuff your nose better than soup, and, well... they were quite nice about it." Hermione blushed. "I'm sorry you're sick, by the way. And I didn't bring chocolate, I promise, but I _did_ drop by Marks and Spencer for a Victoria sponge. I didn't think you'd mind a little tea, after."

He shook his head, touched, and summoned the wax paper-wrapped rose from his cloak. Handing it to her, he managed a lopsided smile, jaw twitching as he fought another sneeze. Hermione's blush was plenty of reward; she set the takeaway at the foot of his bed and opened it carefully.

"Oh! Severus..it's lovely..." she touched the petals gently. "It's like the first one..oh, don't hex me for this..."

Hermione crossed the room and kissed his cheek. "You're sweet."

He scowled at her. _Am not. _He punctuated the sentence with a #77 out of her book. All she did was laugh at him.

"Yes, you are. I got spicy for you – I put it in the fridge for later, extra-spicy for you now, and well, the not-spicy-hardly-at-all for me, and, yes, they did laugh at me, thank you. How'd you get sick, anyway?" Hermione plopped heavily next to him, not as all cowed by the glower. She reached for the bags and cutlery, pulling them towards her.

Severus met her gaze and twisted his lips wryly. _I was about to leave Hogsmeade when I met...someone who was injured. Apparition would have been unwise and churlish of me, given the circumstances._

Hermione tilted her head with a soft smile. "See? Sweet."

He flipped her the bird, and blew his nose. _So I took them to Hagrid. _

"To Hagrid?" she repeated, eyebrow raised.

Severus sighed. _Hermione, meet my house guest –_ and he grasped the snoring little kitten, who woke and blinked at her. He wished for a Pomona's earmuffs, for he was certain the sound she made upon seeing the bloody cat was potentially as lethal as a Mandrake.

"Severus! He's adorable!" Hermione pulled the kitten from his grasp, cradling it to her bosom; he suppressed the pang of envy. Why was his birthday so long ago... "Are you going to keep him?"

Damn her. Damn her and her bleeding heart and those shining eyes. He clenched his teeth and scowled. _I had not considered it._

She smiled at him, handing him his takeaway, and Severus picked up his fork. He hadn't realised just _how_ hungry he was until now, and, yes, extra-spicy had definitely been the right choice. Merlin, this was disgusting..._I despise being ill._

Hermione was scratching the kitten, giving it bits of her bread and using Tergeo to cleanse sauce from her own meal, feeding it scraps of chicken. She looked so... happy, with the kitten in her lap, and it certainly seemed to like her.

Tapping her on the shoulder, he set his fork down. _Perhaps you should keep it? You seem to have bonded with the little miscreant._ Hermione smiled and looked down at the kitten.

"Oh, Severus, I don't think he wants _me_, however...perhaps I'll settle for visitation rights." Hermione winked – _winked_ – at him. He scowled darkly and stabbed his fork into his meal again. Sure enough, the damn cat crawled out of her lap and back to his side. He hesitated, then patted it.

Catching her attention once more, he inquired, _Milk? _

"Oh! Good idea. I'll get some once we've eaten. Perhaps bring it up with tea?" she looked hopefully at him. He nodded, giving her a tiny smile, then broke into another sneezing fit. He blew his nose and sighed, but Hermione merely leaned over, brushed back his hair, and kissed his cheek before going back to her own dinner.

Later, much later, after tea dishes had been banished to the kitchen, the kitten fed and litter boxes conjured, Severus lay quietly in his bed, but for once, he was far from alone. The as-yet unnamed kitten was asleep by his feet, and Hermione was still sitting at his side, blouse gaping just slightly, stocking-footed and book in danger of falling to the floor. Sighing softly, he closed his eyes and figured perhaps a nap before waking her would not be amiss.

* * *

He was hot, too hot, and unpleasantly sticky with sweat, when he woke some time in the late evening.

_Merlin, please don't tell me I've contracted a ruddy fever._ Prying his sleep-crusted eyes open, however, Severus found the source of his discomfort to be a curly-haired witch. It wasn't her fault – _he_ was the one who was holding _her. _She was in his arms, and he'd thrown a leg (thankfully still clad in sleeping pants, he did have a tendency to kick them off) over her possessively.

Clearly, she was also quite warm, as a stray curl had plastered itself to her forehead. He pulled it free and pressed a kiss to her over-heated flesh. Despite the heat, this was..nice. Severus carefully lifted hand and waved it over the both of them, cooling them. Hermione shifted closer with a soft sigh, and he nuzzled her curls.

This was what he wanted. It was still, technically, Valentine's Day, and he was content.

* * *

Okay, good. Happy Valentine's Day. ^_^.


	18. Chapter 18

Author's Note: Help! I'm not only overrun by plot-bunnies, but I'm being awfully girly! No, really. I've bought a dress. And nail lacquers. Expensive ones. Oh, and we sent out our wedding bands for engraving! Squee! 48 days to go!

* * *

**CHAPTER 18**

Small warm hands traveled down his chest, running through the hair to brush against flat nipples. Curls brushed his arm as a soft body leaned against his to press kisses to his lips, greedily returned. He loved the little gasps she made for air while he plundered her mouth with his tongue.

He brushed his knuckles against her sides and she pulled back with a giggle. Her smile was warm, her eyes shining with love as she bent her head to place hot kisses on his chest. He wanted to bury his fingers into those curls, push her down to where he burned for her touch.

But the hand on his skin, searing him, making him throb, took its time moving lower...and lower...soft kisses trailing behind. He could feel warm breath on his stomach, fingers encircling his cock, beginning to stroke...faster, firmer, as his breath came quick and harsh, head tossing. Her curls brushed his legs, and just as she lowered her mouth to him...he awoke, panting, hand wrapped around himself.

Another dream. Another _fucking_ dream.

Jerking his fingers away from his cock, he balled his hands into fists, trying to bring himself under control. He hadn't indulged himself in three days. Oh, not for any need to deny himself pleasure – he was well over that particular hurdle, thank you – but because Hermione was asleep in the second bedroom, for the third night in a row. And to take his pleasure to thoughts of her while she was so close was just...wrong, somehow.

The week after Valentine's had seen a breakthrough for Hermione – the changes she wanted to make for house-elfs were finally going to see the light. What followed, however, was a whirlwind of research. She'd been distracted, burying herself in texts and parchment, only eating lunch because he'd dragged her. (The first time had been literal – he'd shown up at her office, glowering, Professor Snape personified, and had removed the quill from her fingers, marked her place in the tome, slammed it shut, and offered her his arm as escort.)

He'd accepted her lack of affection and time for a while, consoling himself with at least her physical presence at lunch. He was well-enough acquainted with her tendency to throw herself into something as a student to accept it as his love. At the very least, he could make sure she ate lunch, suspected she skipped breakfast, and he kept going to her parents's for signing to ensure she attended as well.

After a week, however, knowing the deadline was looming, he'd offered the use of his library and kitchen table. Hermione had gratefully accepted, working until he indicated he was ready for sleep. It was peaceful, the turning of pages, the scratch of a quill. He kept her supplied with tea, and she always made sure to kiss him and inform him of her love for him.

She'd apologised repeatedly for her distraction, but he assured her it was unnecessary, and that if it was too late (here, he'd swallowed harshly, well out of his depth), she was welcome to stay overnight in the second bedroom.

Hermione's work meant there had no been kissing sessions, and he was unsure of how to ask. Was he supposed to initiate it? For all that she'd responded favorably in the past, did she still want him? After his birthday, nothing as passionate had occurred. Had he misread something?

In any case, it felt wrong to indulge while she was in the other room, perverse, in a way. Sighing, he levered himself from his bed to head for a cold shower, careful not to dislodge Nothing from his curled-up position by his feet. If he was going to be up, he may as well prepare breakfast for the both of them after. There was no way he was going to go back to sleep now, after all. Not with lithe, naked fantasy-Hermione dancing behind his lids.

Severus entered the bathroom, scowling at the shower. He didn't _want _a cold shower, but a hot shower, the warm water running over his skin, would simply entice him to wank. Which he certainly didn't want to do right now. Well, alright, he wanted to, but Hermione had showered in here, too, and just _thinking_ about her, here, naked and her hands running over her breasts, and lower...

Locking the door, he turned the water to what should have been labeled as 'icy', he stripped and stepped under the spray. Shuddering, he forced himself to relax as his erection wilted.

…_When the devil did I obtain such products in my shower?_ Severus picked up the Muggle safety razor gingerly, examined it, and replaced it. Next, he inspected the Muggle shampoo – Hermione's scent of choice, he noted, then smirked at the conditioning potion next to it. _Ah, the secret of how she's managed to tame her curls to some extent..._

Picking up his soap, he realised that there was no wash for Hermione, no second bar of soap. _She's been using my soap_? His mouth went dry at the thought. She'd stood here, rubbed herself with the same soap he – _Oh, Merlin._ His cock fought to return to life, and he resolutely turned into the spray with a shiver.

* * *

"Good morning," Hermione said fuzzily, coming into the kitchen. "It smells lovely."

Severus nodded and waved for her to sit, trying not to look at her too closely. Her hair was wild, and she was still dressed for sleep. He pushed the burgeoning arousal down in his mind until he could face her, sitting across from the woman he loved at the small table. She gave him a strained smile, somewhat sad, before looking down at her plate. Attributing it to the stress – for today was the morning that her proposal would be heard, he began on his own meal.

Before she left the table, he caught her attention. _Not that you are in need of it, but good luck, Hermione,_ he signed.

She smiled again. "Thank you, Severus."

Crossing to him, she kissed his cheek and went up to change.

* * *

"I DID IT!" read the message on the screen. His mobile had startled him when it vibrated in his pocket, nearly making him drop the case of harpy tears he'd fetched from the apothecary. His lips twitched in pride. Of course her proposal had gone through. Unlike her earlier attempts at reform, she'd taken the time to speak to more than one or two creatures, researched the laws and prior cases, and so on.

He went to place the mobile in his frock coat pocket, scowling when he realised that Nothing had shed on it, again. He would have to ask Hermione how she'd kept her familiar's hairs from clinging to every surface.

The kitten had gained its name from Severus's own stubbornness, the kitten's apparent attitude, and, of course, Hermione. After a few days of being pestered with "Did you name him?" "What's his name?", he'd grown short-tempered. The damn cat had attached itself to _him_, not he to it, and why should he name it?

So, at one point, after her inevitable query of "What did you name him?" He'd snarled and signed back "Nothing". Unfortunately, Hermione had laughed, and taken him seriously, turning to the little ball of fluff on her lap and asking it "Is that you? Are you Nothing?"

The damn kitten had given Severus a calculating look, then meowed in _fucking_ consent. And the name had stuck, just like the damn cat's hairs on his previously-clean black jacket. Charming, the hairs off, he decided to go surprise Hermione.

It was a grand success, surely she would appreciate a...a gesture? She'd seemed...off somehow, distant and distracted, perhaps, like him, she required reassurance? It was...possible. Hermione seemed to self-assured these days, it was easy to forget how she had been when she was younger,constantly seeking approval...

_Have I done something to make her doubt me?_ Panic gripped him, and he squashed the nervous fluttering of his heart. He wasn't sure. _Does she no longer want me? _Oh, that question hurt, cut him deeply. No, surely she still wanted him. She was just busy with work, yes.

Hermione wasn't Lily, he reminded himself. He remembered often asking Lily if they were still friends, the nagging doubts that had required him to ask, for she was his only friend. But Hermione had never given him cause to doubt _her_. Instead of separating him from her friends, she brought them together, made him feel welcome.

And yet, he was unsure. Was this for dragging her out of her office for lunch? Had her coworkers said something to her? Was she being mocked for being in his company? Possible. Did...did they even know that she was seeing him? She hadn't seemed to care about that when they ran into Flint, but...

Scowling, he penned a swift note to George, donned his frock coat, and swirled his cloak around his shoulders. Florist, then Ministry.

He didn't know what else to do.

* * *

He'd been so bent on retrieving her on his previous visit to her office that he hadn't noticed the looks he received. It was unsettling, and he kept his face impassive, trying to resist the urge to Disillusion himself. Granted, he avoided being in public as much as possible, so just being himself would generate some stares.

It was most unhelpful, then, to be seen carting a bloody bouquet of cheerful daisies, some dyed pink, and some dyed blue. They'd struck him as, well, pretty, and just odd enough to make her smile. He hadn't considered carrying them through Ministry corridors, and he fought down the hot flush in his cheeks.

One elderly witch had had the gall to _smile_ at him as she exited the elevator. His jaw twitched and he fought not to hex her.

Thankfully, by time he reached Hermione's floor, he was the only one left in the elevator (he'd sent a pair of secretaries whom he vaguely recalled as Hufflepuffs scurrying in fright three floors too soon, much to his pleasure), and he was relieved to see this corridor, at least, was empty of gawkers.

"See you later, 'Mione!" he heard, just as the voice was followed by Harry rounding the corner. "And congrats again!"

There was feminine laughter, and Severus pressed a finger to his lips just as Harry spotted him. Grinning, the boy came closer, checking over his shoulder.

"Nice flowers, 'Mione'll love 'em," Harry said quietly. Severus scowled and tightened his grip on the stems. Harry suddenly looked rather anxious. "Do you – do you have an answer for me yet?"

Severus's nostrils flared. He'd made up his mind ages ago, and he was rather pleased that Harry hadn't once nagged him about making a decision since the day he'd tested the chocolate. He nodded curtly, intending it to be taken as an affirmative, but instead the boy asked; "And...?"

His lips twisted into a sneer. _Honestly, Potter, was that so difficult to understand? A nod generally means 'yes'._ Instead of pulling out his mobile or searching for a quill, he merely rolled his eyes and nodded exaggeratedly.

The boy's grinned widened and Severus took a tiny step back. _I swear, if he hugs me, I will gladly sit in Azkaban..._

"You're the best," Harry said instead. "Don't worry – I'm not going to hug you, Severus."

He visibly relaxed, and both of them turned at the sound of a very girly giggle. "Ginny's in with Hermione – we stopped by to congratulate her. She sent me a message about twenty minutes ago that her proposal went well."

Severus felt rather pleased that Hermione had clearly told him _first, _since his message was over an hour old. Well, maybe second or third. He wouldn't mind if she'd told her parents before him.

"_Ginevra Molly Weasley, that is none of your business!_" Both clearly heard Hermione's outburst. Exchanging raised eyebrows, both moved closer to the doorway, listening.

"So?" the Weasley girl's voice was casual. "I've told you about me and Harry, haven't I?"

"I never said I wanted to _hear_ it." Hermione's voice was muffled, and Severus wondered if her face was buried in her arms or her hands. "I _never _wanted to hear it. _Ever_."

Harry's face was flaming, and Severus smirked. He wondered just how embarrassing the information passed from Ginevra to Hermione was, but he would rather _not_ hear about it, either.

"I wouldn't tell you, it's private," Hermione said primly. He could just picture her lifting her chin and adjusting her blouse, drawing herself help. "Besides...I think I've scared him off."

He frowned. _What_?

"I told him I was a- well..._you_ know...and I can't help but worry I've put him off somehow."

Harry shook his head and moved down the hall a bit.

"I do _not _need to hear this," he whispered. "I'm going to wait for Gin upstairs."

Severus nodded, backing up himself, then striding down the hall, making sure his footsteps would echo. He would have to discuss this with Hermione, in _private_. He supposed dinner would be the proper way to do things. Then she wouldn't suspect him of eavesdropping until he broached the subject, either – a congratulatory dinner would be hard for her to refuse...

He smirked to himself and knocked on the doorframe of her office.

* * *

dundunduuuun~


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note: HEY. This note is important. This chapter will involve another intimate step forward for these two. If you are underage, you shouldn't be here. **Also, since you ARE here, after seeing the rating of this story, you're not allowed to rant at me. Ever.

And, as always, I don't own Harry Potter, etc, and I hope you enjoy the chapter.

* * *

**CHAPTER 19**

He'd returned to work with schemes in his mind and a lighter heart – it was not _him_ she had a problem with. She was not unsatisfied by him. There was nothing wrong between them, merely a misunderstanding.

That did give him pause; when Hermione had confessed her innocence, he had thought that she had wanted to slow things down. He'd heard that women tended to be slower about such things, requiring more deliberation before giving their bodies into a man's keeping. Whereas he was completely willing to go further with her, as long as it was what _she_ wanted.

Severus had, clearly, read into a Gryffindor's statement as a Slytherin. It wasn't a subtle 'slow down'; it was just information. He hadn't realised some further communication was necessary, or that she would be following his lead – typically, Gryffindors _led_, with their words and actions. He'd certainly found enough of them in abandoned classrooms or darkened corners or shrubs... the Hufflepuffs had had quiet, chaste liaisons when balls were not involved, the Ravenclaws had giggled and had quiet kisses (he'd still taken points off), and the Slytherins had known better than to get caught.

Was that part of Hermione's concern? Stirring the base before adding the carapace, he frowned. Was she – Merlin forbid – _embarrassed_ at her continuing purity? That could be it, he certainly knew that same twinge. Or perhaps it was that she thought that he should be leading, as the male. That made perfect sense – she would have witnessed most of the males in her year making overtures, setting the pace...and, knowing him and his temperament, she wouldn't push him. He scowled. He hadn't understood, and he _hated _not understanding. That had been one of his primary drives in his early years, and he had never lost his own know-it-all tendencies.

At least she had been pleased by the flowers, if the delicate pink blush gracing her cheeks had been any indication. Ginevra had flushed, made her excuses, and departed, leaving Hermione to conjure a vase for the daisies.

They'd talked briefly, her in low tones, eyes shining with excitement over her victory, watching his fingers almost longingly as he replied. She'd been ecstatic to join him for dinner, smiling at him with that lovely smile, and his lips had twitched, giving her the tiniest of smiles back.

When she'd confessed that she really loved his cooking, his smile became a knowing smirk, for he enjoyed sharing his home with her. He'd been relieved when she'd asked if they met a bit late, that she'd like to pop by her flat, change out of work clothes. He'd nodded, and informed her that it would be best to Apparate directly into his library – no need to brave the March chill this evening.

Besides...it gave _him_ time to plan. She was a bleeding heart, after all, and couldn't resist 'helping'.

* * *

George had had a carefully-schooled expression on his face all day, and Severus had quietly, cautiously, snuck a small peek into his mind. Afterward, he'd rolled his eyes in exasperation. Really, George wanted to prank _him_?

Absolutely absurd, and just what he needed, for his job to become more difficult.

Putting the finishing touches on the still-warm potions, he tied them to one of the discreet order owls. As long as he used them towards the end of business, George either didn't notice, or didn't care. He was highly amused that no one had said anything about this, one way or the other, especially since it was every night.

That reminded him, he should check on how the revenge on Flint had worked out. By now, the boils should have lessened, but the scales and swelling should still be present. As for the impotence and foul body odor...well, Flint should have known better than to accept an anonymous gift. _Such_ a pity that had occurred, really... he'd written to the company with the problem (merely an allergic reaction, not that his former head of house could _possibly_ have been aware of such a condition) and, of _course_, Severus had begun brewing 'antidotes' for the poor man. (Rather gleefully, he might add.)

Which happened to exacerbate the problems, true... by time he'd finished with all of the "antidotes", Flint would be back to normal. It would just take a while, he thought smugly, sending both owls off on their errands. How George had gotten owls that knew how to read the addresses , or if they simply knew his _intent_ on where the birds should go, he didn't know, but he was damned grateful for it.

* * *

He deliberately removed his scarf this evening. Since acquiring it from Hermione, he'd worn it constantly. It afforded him the comfort of something about his neck when he disliked now the feel of a cravat, and blocked his scars from curious view. He even forgot he was wearing it most of the time, but it would be a subtle change.

Still, even knowing that it would aid her to feel more at ease, he felt rather naked without it.

Severus stared at his reflection. He hadn't really paid attention to his appearance until recently, with the prospect of physical intimacy looming. Huge nose – that would never change, and despite what was said of it, he wasn't too upset about it at his age. It was a nose. Hooked, yes. Large, yes. But it _was _sensitive, which worked excellently for potions, or cooking.

He wasn't nearly as sallow as he had been – most likely the dearth of stress in his life, as well as the increased exposure to sunshine and steady meals he could actually eat. His face was still thin – no amount of food would change that, he supposed. He'd always been painfully thin. He liked to think he looked...happier, now, than he had been before. He wasn't Occluding nearly as often (it was a subconscious habit. He'd always been a natural Occlumens, and it actually took a great deal of effort to not slip back to impassivity), and thought he also may look more relaxed. No change for the hair, though. Greasy as always, and he really couldn't be bothered to give a fuck at this point.

It was an odd change – he'd been told he was ugly for nearly his entire life. He'd _felt_ ugly, unwanted. But knowing that Hermione cared, loved him, wanted him...it made a bit of a shift in his perspective. Severus tilted his head, examining his profile. Yes, he could see a glimmer of what Hermione saw – and tonight he'd show her what _he _saw.

* * *

She was late. His jaw was tight, and he fought to keep from balling his hands into fists. Rage was impotent, in matters of the heart. Severus kept telling himself it was another misunderstanding – she had a reason. And it had better be a bloody good one.

But he knew his experiences in luck and love never sailed smooth, and hope was fighting a losing battle. Snarling, he pivoted and stalked into the kitchen, the heels of his boots snapping across wood and tile. Why did he bother? Setting the kettle to boil, he seethed inwardly, drumming his long fingers against the countertops in an effort to expend his pent-up energy, ignoring the kitten lapping from his dish in the corner.

It wasn't until he'd sat, glowering at the wall clock, that the inhalation of the tea calmed him, and he allowed himself to Occlude. He'd steeped his anger with the tea – now he could think.

Hermione was rarely late. When she did run late, she apologised. From the word's she'd spoke – and she was a _terrible _liar – and the conversations he'd overheard, they'd already had their share of misunderstandings. Perhaps she'd been called into a meeting, and it had run over. Perhaps her mother had called her, and she was unable to text him. But she'd look at the clock, surely, and any moment now, his mobile would vibrate. Any moment.

That she may have encountered trouble had not entered his mind until this moment – Hermione could easily take care of herself, and did not _need_ him (or Harry or Weasley) to defend her.

_Damn it_. His eye twitched, and he clenched his teeth. Now that the thought had wormed its way into his mind, he was consumed by it. Hermione was intelligent, she was _not_ about to go gallivanting off with persons unknown and end up in Knockturn Alley. She was _not_ going to go haranguing off after some villainous purse-snatcher in defense of some helpless old woman. She was strong, she was clever, she had more steel than the rag papers gave her credit for...and he was worried sick.

Severus was about to take to pacing when a cautious rap on his door caught his attention. _Must be a Muggle_, he thought with as much vitriol as possible, a sneer curling his lip. _Probably one of those pedantic peddlers of some sort..._

Glancing at the side table, he verified that he did have a stylo and legal pad available before yanking the door open, prepared to bestow his most derisive look to – Hermione.

His face went blank and impassive before he could stop it, and she looked abashed.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. Forcing himself to give some semblance of a smile, he stepped back, and offered her entry.

_I am not angry with you,_ he signed. _I do wish you had let me know you would be late, however, but dinner will keep – after all, what are stasis charms for?_

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank god...I feel like such an idiot."

_Why?_ He looked at her inquiringly.

"I thought you were going to meet me at work." Her cheeks flamed, and she stooped to pet Nothing, who was attempting to trip her. "I stood there for ages, then I went to St. Mungo's, thinking you got called in -"

Severus crossed to her, tilting her chin to regard him. _I apologise_, he signed. _I should have clarified for you to meet me here, so that I may prepare dinner first._ _I am sorry to have caused you distress_.

Hermione smiled, and he dipped his head to kiss her gently. _Your victory dinner awaits_, he signed, then ushered her to the table, skillfully taking her jacket, sending it to hang itself with a wave of his hand.

"It smells lovely," she said brightly, clearly trying to get past her embarrassment at the whole ordeal, draping her napkin neatly across her lap. "It was really very sweet of you – don't glare at me, Severus, I'm not going to tell anyone else it's sweet – to make dinner for us."

_Us_. He liked the way it sounded in her mouth. He smirked at her, passing the dish of roasted potatoes, enjoying the way she inhaled with a soft smile. A few minutes into the meal, after a lull in conversation about her plans for moving forward with house elf reform, he decided it was time to steer things where he needed them to go.

_I apologise again, Hermione, for the misunderstanding_, he signed, knowing full well she'd assume he meant this evening and not about intimacy. _Also, I'd been thinking... you have spent a great deal of time here lately - _

"I can stop," Hermione blurted, and he glared at her.

_Do **not** put words in my mouth, Miss Granger. _His hands snapped the retort quickly_._She giggled at that, and mocked, "Sorry, Professor Snape."

He hissed in annoyance, even as he reached across to brush her hand briefly before retreating with a sigh. _I meant only that it must be frustrating to have to wait on me, especially in inclement weather, _he told her. _Here_.

Reaching into his pocket, he then pressed a copy of the front door key into her hand, feeling the slight tingle as his wards shifted to recognise her fully. By her reaction, you'd think he'd have given her the deed to the bloody Great Library of Alexandria. She'd gone very still and quiet before covering her mouth with one hand. _I swear, if she cries, I'll take the sodding thing back_, he thought churlishly.

But Hermione didn't cry, just closed her hand around the key and began smiling widely. He revised his thoughts to include insane laughter; that thought was quickly abandoned as she leapt from her seat, rushing around the small dining table to him. She nearly knocked him from his chair as she squeezed her arms tightly around him, kissing him soundly.

In his later defense, he hadn't _meant_ to slip into her mind – she'd practically broadcast her feelings to the point he could _taste_ her relief. Her insecurity flooded him, and he marveled that such a strong, capable woman as his Hermione could feel such a way. He kissed her back, pushing away from the table to drag her into his lap, her legs straddling his.

Her arousal bled over into his mind, and he was almost instantly hard. _Oh, Merlin_, he thought, even as he cupped the back of her head, threading his fingers through her curls. Hermione's hands were in _his_ hair, heedless of its texture, and she was rubbing against him languidly, her tongue tangling with his.

She tasted divine. He could barely think to break the mental connection, not when he could _feel_ her – not deep, just the surface, just the pink haze of affection and enjoyment and lust, accompanied by the bubbling happiness and relief.

He sucked at her bottom lip, kissing her passionately, trying to keep his mouth gentle. She was sweet, so sweet, and he barely registered the faint clink of the house key dropped to the tile floor, nor the dangerous creak of his chair.

All Severus could focus on was Hermione's weight in his lap, the feel of her mind against his, her lips on his; the pink went brighter, then sank to red.

_He's in my mind!_ Hermione'd thought, and it was so strong he'd _heard_ it, along with the accompanying whimper. The wave of lust that swamped him made it hard to breathe. He sucked in a ragged breath, pulling back to look at her in awe just as the images caught up. Not just the red of lust and arousal, the deep thrum of passion, but images, sensations... aching nipples, something warm, a throb of need – his or hers, he couldn't tell – and a definite thrill of excitement to have his mind in hers.

The chair groaned, cracked, and they landed on the tile, Severus with a surprised exhalation, Hermione with a, – he'd kill anyone if they knew he'd even _thought_ the word – adorable squeak. Nothing fled with a startled yowl, and once Severus had quickly ascertained that neither had suffered any injury from their abrupt deposit on the floor, he pulled her hips down, grinding up against her.

Hermione's eyes fluttered shut, and she made the sweetest moan he'd heard from her yet – breathy, soft and it made him ache. She was so beautiful, the tell-tale pink flush on her cheeks brightening her eyes, the way she leaned back a little, thrusting her breasts out...

With a snarl, Severus rolled her under him. Blue shock flared in her mind, then settled back to pleasure as he slotted himself between her legs. Dipping his head, he kissed her again, gently, teasing her with soft kisses. Hermione whimpered and grabbed his hair, her legs coming around his hips.

His heart faltered – she was so welcoming, so perfect underneath him, and he moved from her mouth to her neck, broken chair and dinner forgotten in favor of fingers digging into his back, the taste of her skin on his tongue, the sound of her quiet whimpers when he reached certain points.

_Perfume? _He wondered vaguely, nibbling on her earlobe and she writhed under him. It was a light scent, something... gentle. Hermione rubbed against him sensuously as he sucked where her shoulder and neck met, biting carefully.

Edging his fingers under her blouse, he caught the edge of panic in her mind – clearly, she did not wish to go further on the floor. Instead, he stroked his fingers over her stomach soothingly, just on the edge of tickling. Soft kisses across her collarbone, gentling as he reached the swell of her breast, leaving her a small mark as he suckled the flesh there, then back to her lips before he pulled away, eyes glittering.

_She's beautiful_, he thought, smirking down at her, watching her breasts heave as her tongue darted out to wet her lips. He carefully withdrew from her mind, noting the small twinge of loss. Interesting, that she'd noticed him there. Granted, it'd been accidental and he'd hardly been stealthy about it, but it was something to possibly explore later.

Much, much later.

Rising to his feet, he offered her his hand in assistance before pulling his wand and repairing the damaged chair.

_Would you like to finish dinner?_ he inquired carefully, expression schooled even as she watched his hands. _Or would you prefer to continue this...discussion...upstairs?_

If possible, those eyes of hers darkened and she inhaled slowly, nodding.

_Which is it?_ he asked, knowing full well which one she wanted. He was going to make her _say_ it, make acknowledge that she wanted him as much as he obviously wanted her. He'd opened the door; Hermione needed to step through it. Severus would be damned if he'd admit it, but he needed her to tell him it was alright. No nodding, no inferring. He _needed_ her verbal affirmation.

_Tell me you want me_, he thought almost desperately. In truth, he didn't care if they made love or not this night – he wanted her to acknowledge that they wanted each other, mutually, to know he _did_ desire her the way she clearly desired him.

"Severus..." Hermione's voice was soft and she bit at her lip, unsure. "I'm not ready for, well... _everything_ quite yet, but I...I would like to go upstairs with you, love."

He nodded, capturing her wrist and bringing her hand to his mouth to brush a kiss there. She was _his_, and he had no intent of letting things crumble. He'd always been rather ambitious. Tucking an errant curl back into the wild mass of her hair, he licked his lips deliberately, then smirked.

Leading her upstairs was easy, despite the tightness of her grip and the anticipation tripping through his veins. Shutting the door and warding it so Nothing wouldn't find his way in again was also simple. He led Hermione to the bed, where he sat on the edge, looking up slightly to regard her. Everything he did was carefully planned – close the door, but left it unlocked. Ward the door, but only for the damn kitten. Seat himself, leave her standing to tell him what she wanted.

He never wanted to be like his father.

Severus waited calmly, watching the tension slowly leave her frame.

Finally, ceased Hermione chewing nervously at her lip. "I don't know where to start."

He managed a wry smirk despite the dryness of his mouth, lifting his hands from his lap to reply. _Nor do I, love._

Her breath hitched and she stared at him. "It...it's not just me?"

Blushes were charming on her, he decided, even as he shook his head. His heart thudded nervously in his chest. Now would be when she rejected him, he thought despondently. This would end, and he would be alone. He would lose Hermione, lose the warmth of her love, the way she spent time with him, shared her family with him -

Hermione interrupted his internal disparagement by laughing. "Oh thank god, it's _not_ just me! I do wish you knew more than me, but -"

Severus sneered at her. _I assure you, I am well-versed and well-read on theory, Hermione_, he signed. She giggled and kissed his nose, earning herself a scowl as he jerked his head back, removing the feel of her lips with his hand.

Disgruntled, he told her, _Would you prefer to __show__ me what you find enjoyable?_ He gave her an arch look, challenging her. She blushed darker.

"Only if you will," Hermione replied. He shook his head and pulled her to the bed next to him. _Merlin save me from Gryffindor bravado,_ he thought, cupping her cheek and lowering his mouth to hers, ignoring the lank strands of his hair that fell around them.

"I still love you," she murmured against his lips, little puffs of warm air making him close his eyes in bliss. He loved this, loved to kiss her. He would simply begin this way, the way they usually began, and let things go where they may.

Hermione tucked black strand behind his ear, winding her arms around his neck before opening her mouth to him.

_Yes, _he thought, sliding his tongue alongside hers as they kept leaning closer to each other with each soft, sucking kiss. It would have surprised many to find he was a passionate man – it usually manifested itself in his books, his potions, but now, it would manifest itself with his lover.

_My lover, my love, my Hermione_, Severus thought as she moaned. He cupped the back of her head, cushioning his hand in her curls. They were wild, even when she attempted to restrain them in a plait. He wouldn't tell her how much he enjoyed her hair, even if he did want her nowhere near his cauldrons without at least an elastic. Preferably a gallon of Sleekeazy's, a plait, and a hairnet...

His thoughts were derailed when she moved her lips from his to his neck – the scarred side – and he sucked in a breath. Sweet Merlin, he hadn't realised how _sensitive_ the scars were. He'd been hard in the kitchen, and it'd flagged a bit as they'd moved upstairs, but now he _ached,_ pressed as he was against the buttoned placket of his trousers. Hermione's tongue was tracing gentle lines on his neck, and he edged his fingers under her blouse again.

The muscles under her soft skin jumped, and she made a sweet little chirrup of surprise – a cross, he assumed, between a giggle and a sigh against the skin of his neck just above his collar – as he moved both hands around to her back, pulling her closer to him. Hermione's mouth fasted to his neck just by his windpipe and he swore mentally. The chit was going to kill him.

Embracing him, she finished her suckling and left a kiss on what would surely become a mark. Her voice was soft; "Only I will see it, Severus..."

He trembled, and hated himself for the weakness of it. Desperate to regain his footing, take some control rather than being so...passive, he rose, fingers flying over the buttons of his shirt.

"Oh," she said in a soft voice, and began struggling out of her own blouse, stumbling over her buttons and watching his long fingers avidly. One of her pink pearlescent buttons ripped from the fabric, and she didn't even notice, didn't track its progress as it rolled under his bureau.

_Slowly, _Severus thought, discarding his shirt and tugging on her hands. He wanted to do it. He wanted to bare her skin to him. He wanted to sear every memory of her into his soul – each conversation, every lunch, every evening, every moment he was with her. He tugged at her buttons, at the clasp at the front of her bra.

Hermione was beautiful to him. She was plain but pretty. She'd been awkward as a child, and that first year after the war she'd been as painfully thin as he'd been. But while he hadn't gained much weight, she'd turned into a _woman_. Beautiful breasts were unveiled as she shucked her open blouse and undergarment off and rose on tiptoe to kiss him.

Running his hands over her soft skin as she reached around his neck, he reveled in the feel of her against him. Soft, a bit of a curve to her belly, and those soft, rounded breasts. Perfect, beautiful breasts, tipped with rosy nipples pressing into the hair of his chest. The nip at her waist, the dip of the small of her back – perfect, wonderful Hermione.

She kissed him hungrily, the flames from earlier igniting, scorching them both. A quiet moan against his mouth and he was lost, sliding his hands to cup her softly rounded bum, attempting to lift her into his arms.

They ended up falling onto the bed – Severus with a huff of air and a flush of embarrassment, Hermione with a giggle before she pulled his head down once more to kiss him. He devoured her mouth, tangling his tongue with hers, encouraging her to taste his mouth in return.

When she broke the kiss for air, he caressed the side of her neck, carefully circling it and moving his mouth to the other side. He bloody _loved _the sounds she made. Her skin was delicious, he decided, licking at a mole at the base of her throat.

Dark Arts, he'd been fascinated by, but they paled in comparison to exploring this woman. The power promised by the Death Eaters was nothing but a childish dream compared being the one to make her gasp and moan. The adulation of being a hero was nothing, nothing, to the soft whisper of his name on her lips.

"I don't know what to do with my hands," Hermione managed to whimper as he cupped her breasts, plucking gently at the nipples. They were hard now, pointed and pebbled, practically _begging_ for his mouth; his tongue snaked out to his lips in anticipation. Severus shrugged, pulling one into his mouth, twisting the other. "_Oh!_"

Hermione arched towards him as he began to suckle, hands covering her face, then resting on his head, then his shoulders. Laving the rosy little tip in his mouth, he closed his eyes in bliss – he'd dreamt of this again more oft than he'd care to admit. Her breasts were so warm. So smooth. So soft, yet so firm. He switched to the other breast, enjoying her gasp as the cool air hit her wet skin. Her hips moved towards him with every suck of her breast, spurring him to suck a little harder, lifting her breast up as he did so. Severus nipped at her gently and her hips jerked. He did it again, harder.

"A little too hard," Hermione said on a breathy moan. "But good, so good..."

Glancing up at her, he noted just how deep the flush was, and tamped down the urge to slip into her mind. As it was, he was pressed against the bed and torn between wishing he'd removed his trousers and being rather glad they were there. If he entered her mind, he'd be lost. There wouldn't be enough Occlumency in the entire Wizarding World to stop him. From what, exactly, he wasn't sure. Making love to her, perchance, or simply coming in his trousers like a spotty teen. Either way, it was gauche and he would damn well Occlude as much as he needed to to avoid it.

He kissed his way down her stomach slowly, leaving a small little mark on the curve of her belly. _Mine_, he thought with a mental growl. Oh, Merlin, he could _smell_ her now. He'd never thought a woman would smell so amazing, or that he'd be bloody salivating at the intoxicating scent. Before the thought of _tasting_ a woman was, well, rather distasteful, but it was Hermione and she was so beautiful and perfect and it was something to file away in his mind for later.

Tracing the waist of her jeans, he looked up at her from under his brow, questioning. His cheeks felt warm, and he was trying to ignore the way his erection dug into the mattress. Her fingertips met his, and his breath caught. Were they to stop? No, she was moving to the button, her cheeks aflame and eyes dark.

_She wants me_. It was a heady thing to have affirmed, over and over. It felt unnatural some days, to be so wanted. Others, it was the most natural thing in his world. Severus assisted her, pulling back for Hermione to wriggle free from the denim material.

White. Plain white knickers. Another thing to love about her. Oh, it would be just as sexy if she'd had something like he'd seen in confiscated magazines, but the white...it was plain, it was practical, yet on Hermione, they were gorgeous. And, oh Merlin, she was pushing them off, too.

Eagerly, he grasped them from her, pulling them from her legs, then admired her. She was gorgeous. Shapely feet, not that he'd been attracted to such appendages in the past, curved legs and thighs just perfect for him to imagine them wrapped around his waist as he pounded into her the way his body wanted to.

Catching her gaze, he lifted his hands, flushing. _Show me,_ he signed. Hermione's lips parted, her tongue darting out to wet them. _I want to know how to pleasure you. Show me._

Acquiescing to his demand – well, request, but he supposed – Hermione kept her eyes on his as she spread her legs. One small hand drifted down her body, a caress of her breast, and he found his gaze drawn to her hand as it skimmed over her stomach.

Breath quickening, he watched, transfixed, as she grazed fingers through the dark curls. His cock throbbed at the sight of her – she was beautiful. So pink, and the wetness of her reflected the soft light of his bedroom.

"You too," Hermione ordered breathlessly. "I want to see you."

He tore his eyes from her long enough to divest himself of his trousers, hesitating slightly at his shorts. What if she did not find him attractive? What if she mocked him? Did not want him? Snarling, he shoved the doubts away. This was _Hermione_. Finally, he stood before her, naked, his cock relieved to be freed of its confines, judging by how it thrust forward proudly. Had he always dressed slightly to the left? He wasn't sure, now. Was that good or bad?

"Oh," she managed in a soft voice. "Oh, god, you're so beautiful, Severus..."

He flushed, he knew he did, and joined her once more on the bed. An expectant eyebrow, and she smiled, her hand returning to the dark curls.

"You are, though..." she was watching him as she dipped into herself just briefly, fingertips shining with moisture. His heart slammed painfully against his ribs, watching one fingertip circle what was clearly her clit.

"I like this – slow, steady, not too much pressure," Hermione said breathily, starting to stroke the little pearl. He could see everything from where he sat. Her fingers, the little turgid point she was stroking, her entrance, quivering with every pass of that fingertip. "You really are handsome to me, Severus...I've – _oh, god_- been, well, fantasizing about you for so long...oh, god, Severus..."

She made a little whimper as she stared at him, back arching and cheeks flushing, and he realised he'd curled his fingers around himself and was slowly stroking in time with her motions. He stopped, but then she shook her head. "N-no...Severus, keep going, _please_, oh, god, you have no idea..."

He could feel his face flame, but grasped his cock more firmly. _Little Gryffindor know-it-all_, he thought, not uncharitably. Her eyes were aflame with lust and curiosity, and he could deny her neither just now.

Keeping his eyes on her fingers as she rubbed herself, he cupped the heavy sac under his cock, then circled his length. He flicked his eyes to hers, only to see her watching him avidly, pink from cheeks to tits, and her fingers moving a bit faster to match her breathing.

_Oh, sweet Merlin, she's going to kill me, and we've barely begun._ Hermione was making soft whimpers, little noises of pleasure, and it set every nerve he had aflame. Her hips were moving, her breath staccato, and he was panting, starting to fist himself.

"So close," she managed to say. "I've changed my mind, Severus, please... _Please_, Severus, I want you..."

He froze, and almost gave in. _She said no before_, his mind whispered behind the Occlumency shields, and he shook his head. His cock clearly thought his mind was a traitor, but instead he stretched next to her, gathering her to his side.

Pulling her hand to his lips, he inhaled her scent – _so intoxicating!_ - and kissed her hand. She'd made a noise of protest, but he bent his head to kiss her passionately, trapping his cock between them, against her hip. Hermione kissed him back fervently.

His heart pounded in his ears as he slid his own hand between her legs. _Oh, fuck_. Wet...warm...slick... he slipped a finger across her entrance, dampening his flesh with her. Her hips jerked, following him, but he refused to do more than that, instead choosing to locate her clit.

It was..firm. And judging by the way she gasped into his mouth, sensitive. _Slow circles_, he thought, cock throbbing. He was excited beyond what he'd thought possible. Merlin, this was so good... he pushed his own pleasure away as much as he could. He knew he'd already left a smear of precum on her leg as he'd slowly ground against her.

Moaning, Hermione broke the kiss, digging her nails into his arm. "Faster, oh please, just a little faster!"

Wincing at the piercing of his skin even as he increased his speed, he tangled his tongue with hers once more, pressing his cock more firmly to her. The reward was almost immediate – Hermione was panting, breasts heaving, making delicious moans that he swallowed greedily.

This was his, for _him_. No one else had heard these sounds from her. No one had seen her like this. She was beautiful. Glorious. She was _his._

Wrenching her mouth away, Hermione's head fell back, her breath quick and fast, her hips following his fingers. "Oh! Severus!"

She chanted his name, holding onto him for dear life, cheeks flushed and lips swollen as her eyes clenched and her body stiffened, arching almost out of his grasp. He could feel her clit thump and throb with her pulse against his fingers as she keened his name a final time.

He slowed his strokes, making her twitch as she came down, slowly relinquishing her grasp on his arm. Sparing a glance at the area, it was highly likely she'd bruised him. Worth it. What was one more mark, after all? At least these he wouldn't regret.

Lifting his hand from her sex, he examined his fingers. Her scent was even stronger, more intoxicating, and before he knew it, he'd licked a finger, closing his eyes. The flavor of her was..ambivalent. Was it good? Bad? He couldn't decide either way, but settled for it as inoffensive, and he wouldn't be likely to deny her if she ever wished for his mouth there.

Severus opened his eyes to find her staring up at him with something close to awe.

"Thank you," she murmured, shifting against him, seeming to suddenly realise his predicament. Hermione licked her lips, a blush suffusing her face once more. "May I...touch you, too?"

Breathless, he nodded, and she sat up, pushing him onto his back. She studied him intently, hesitating a moment before sliding her fingers into the hair of his chest to his nipples, touching them gently. He watched her, eyes glittering, and she smiled up at him, teeth sinking into her lower lip before she pinched his nipples as he'd done to hers.

_Merlin!_ he thought with a gasp. He hadn't realised _he _was that sensitive there. She bent her head, tongue swiping them, before – _shite!_ - sucking on them.

His head fell back on a sudden exhalation. It felt bloody _good_! Her hands ran over his chest, and he suppressed a smile as they traveled over his stomach. (He was ticklish – he _was_ human, after all.)

Her touch on his cock was gentle, hesitant. So much softer than his own hand. Prying his eyes open, he watched her. She was beautiful, kneeling beside him, admiring his body. Severus sighed as she cupped his sac the way he had, then encircled his length with her fingers. It was surreal, watching her learn his body. He bucked his hips a little, encouragingly.

_Harder_, he implored with his eyes. _Faster_. He willed her to understand what he wanted. She did, apparently, for she grasped him tighter, moving her hand experimentally. He moved his hips encouragingly, showing her the rhythm he enjoyed.

His eyes fell closed. It was hard to watch her when his heart quickened and his breath caught in his chest. Fire burned is his loins, his cock throbbing – he could feel the wetness oozing from the tip, coating her hand.

A swift inhale as she stopped, and he forced his eyes open, just in time to see her examine the fluid on her hand. _Don't do it, _he mentally begged, but to no avail. His little Gryffindor touched it to her tongue, made a face, then tilted her head, considering.

"Do you mind?" she asked softly. He shook his head. He didn't mind if she didn't enjoy his flavor. He'd sampled himself before, and knew full well men were...bitter, to say the least.

Apparently, he'd misunderstood what it was she'd asked if he minded, for one moment she was smiling at him and the next she'd licked up his cock before taking the head in her mouth. _Fuck! Warm, wet, oh Merlin, oh **fuck**, oh Hermione-!_

Lips soundlessly shaping curses, he managed to cease himself from thrusting up after the first. So good. So good. If he'd been able to, he was fairly certain he'd be whimpering, begging. He didn't know if it was supposed to be like this, the fire searing his nerves as strong as any Cruciatus, only pleasurable.

Good, so hot around him, so wet, the press of her tongue – he flung an arm over his eyes, gasping, the other hand twisted in his bedsheets. _Yes, yes, yes, right there, Hermione, yes, yesyesyesyesyesyesyes -!_

His hips arched, his body bowing. He was fire, flame, white-hot behind his eyes. He felt too tight in his own skin, longing to burst, to explode – and then, blessedly, he came, thrusting blindly, helplessly, into her mouth.

Panting, he vaguely noticed her spluttering, a twinge of guilt that was too-quickly drenched by lassitude.

By the time he managed to catch his breath and regard her once more, Hermione was composed, sporting a rueful smile.

"You were brilliant," she said softly, blushing. "I wouldn't mind a little practice, though, to get used to it. I can do better."

He smirked at her, and pulled her down to his side. Waving an idle hand to cover them, he pressed a kiss to her temple as she wound herself around him.

"Thank you," Hermione murmured quietly some time later, head pillowed on his chest. He kissed her again. _Yes, thank you, love, _he thought to himself.

"I love you, too, Severus."

* * *

There we go. Sorry for the delay – between moving, work, wedding stuff (25 days left!), I wasn't able to write much. Compound that with a 2nd degree burn on my left hand (all 4 fingers and the side) that's slowly healing and you have a grumpy, injured author. Sorry! Hope you're all well. Enjoy! :)

PS – haven't edited. If you find errors, PLEASE don't hesitate to tell me so I may fix them! :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note: HEY. This note is important. I'm getting married on 12 April, so I may not have another update until the end of that month. It depends on how busy I am with work and packing for the move and wedding things. :)**

**Thankfully, my hand's almost all healed, about 90%, yay! **

* * *

**CHAPTER 20**

It actually took him an almost entire week to realise she hadn't really left since that night. Oh, they'd gone to work, gone to her parents's, but she hadn't actually _left_. They'd slept together in his bed, her hair tickling his nose, him stealing most of the sheets, and they had continued with mutual exploration. He adjusted himself surreptitiously, cheeks hot. It wasn't _his_ fault she couldn't stop touching him... or that she encouraged him so often... He shook his head, trying to get his thoughts back on track.

She'd clearly been conjuring clothing from her flat, since she certainly hadn't done any laundry, and his loo had suspiciously fuller shelves. He'd frowned this morning, plucking a bottle from the mirror cabinet, sniffing cautiously. _Perfume_. Well, at least she wasn't like some of the women he saw in Diagon Alley or even Muggle London, purchasing more 'beauty' products than they could ever use. Not that she needed beauty products – Hermione was beautiful. Her blushes were natural and charming, and he didn't mind the touch of color on her eyelids that brought out her eyes. And he very much liked that her kisses didn't taste like anything but her.

It wasn't that Severus _minded_ that Hermione hadn't left – quite the opposite. He minded that it had taken him a week to notice it. Pondering his inattentiveness, he glanced down at his teacup and sighed. With a wave of his hand, it dumped itself into the sink. Another flick and a quill and parchment joined him at the bench. He bent over it, scowl firmly in place. Enough.

"Desist, Weasley. It shan't work." Note written, he sent it up to George's desk. It was the third time this week he'd noticed something off. The first day, it'd been his wand – he'd noticed _before_ seizing it, and had Banished the trick thing to George's own pocket. Successfully, he might add, if the shocked yelp a while later had been anything to go by. Two days later, it'd been a quill. Pity George hadn't transferred the cantrip he used on his quills to prevent them from being walked off with to the new one. He wasn't going to say anything, but if George _had_ done so, he would have been a very angry Potions Master with a rather large mess of ink on his face. Instead, he'd Banished the damn thing to the container of quills at the register. An hour later, and an ink-splattered employer had burst into the Potions Lab.

Severus had merely raised an eyebrow and continued skinning shrivelfigs. George had spluttered, swore, and left in a huff, much to his amusement. Today's attempt had been spiking his tea with Cheering Concoction. Really. As if he was not still in the habit of checking food and drink before consumption.

Perhaps he should take action, dissuade his employer from further folly? He smirked. Child's play. Better, it would deter him from continuing this farce and he could get actual work done, rather than checking everything for tampering.

* * *

Hermione had gotten home before he had – the Grangers were out on a 'date night', so lessons had been waylaid in favor of whatever they were up to, not that he cared to invest much thought into it – and he was disgusted with how happy it made him to see the sitting room window lit behind the curtains. His wards smoothed over his hand as he unlocked the door. _Good girl_.

Hanging his frock coat in the hall closet, he tread slowly into the sitting room, only for his heart to slam in his chest. This was what he wanted, every night, his heart whispered. Hermione smiled up at him from the couch, and Nothing yawned from his spot on her feet in greeting.

"I found my button!" She lifted the blouse from last week, along with needle and thread to show him that, indeed, she'd located the little thing. "I thought I'd have to Transfigure one, and then it wouldn't match."

He scoffed. _Of course it would match,_ he told her. _And you do realise you do not __need__ to sew on a button? You're a witch._

"My mum's always fixed clothes this way." She shrugged, and looked back down at her progress. "Besides, I don't know any darning spells. I could probably ask Molly, or check a book, but...I feel closer to my mum this way, despite the trouble of it."

Nodding, Severus sat in his armchair, absently scratching Nothing on the ears when the kitten decided to climb up the side to his lap.

"There's some mail you should see," she mumbled into her sewing, apparently attempting to tie a knot. He raised an eyebrow at her, merely waiting for her to elaborate. Hermione glanced up at him from under her curls and scowled. "Honestly! You just...might not be happy about one or two of them. Oh, and Harry's wedding invitations arrived, too."

He scoffed and summoned the post. _Notification of Ronald Weasley's elopement with his overly-cheerful broodmare, as if I was unaware of it, after being told by Hermione, Minerva, __and__ George -_he tossed that one aside for later perusal. _Renewal contract of my services with St. Mungo's –_ quickly read and tossed aside, along with the invitation to Harry's wedding. _A letter from the Ministry?_He checked it for an odd hexes or jinxes, ignoring the rude sound Hermione made in the back of her throat. _I know __you__ checked, but it's my bloody post, I'll check it again_.

Reading the missive, he stiffened. Scowled, sneered, and attempted to send it into the grate to die a fiery death.

"Won't work," Hermione told him despondently. "I've tried to burn mine. It plastered itself to my arm until I gave up. What the hell are they thinking, anyway?"

He flicked the bloody thing into the corner, noting smugly that it was not immune to the claws of Nothing, who'd chased after it gleefully, pouncing upon it repeatedly the way kittens did. A corner of his mouth lifted, and he flicked his wand, moving it again and again for the wretched beast.

_Yes, destroy the damned thing. A 'let's all celebrate five years' ball. Ridiculous. We've had five perfectly fine years without inviting something awful to happen._ Nothing grabbed the parchment with his stubby little legs and scratched viciously at it. _A Ministry ball. Utter tripe._

"Why, Severus Snape," said Hermione in a mischievous tone. "Are you _playing_ with a kitten?"

He gave her a dark look, then resumed watching Nothing shred the Ministry invitation with a glower. He pointedly ignored her huffing and mounting frustration with her little sewing project. A side of his mouth did curl into a smile, however, when she let out a quiet growl, followed by a swear.

Turning back to her, he caught her attention and asked, _Did you need some help?_

Frowning, she held out her project. "Yes please, Mister I-Knot-Your-Christmas-Gift-Every-Year."

Smirking, he examined her work, made a few quick adjustments, then deftly knotted the thread for her, securing the little button back in place. Her smile was brilliant as she took the blouse from him. "I didn't know you could sew – I honestly thought you'd use magic."

It took considerable effort for him to keep his expression open, let alone respond to her. He sighed. _The man who sired me disliked magic to a great extent. My mother learned to do things the Muggle way, and as we had little income, I helped her with the mending. My fingers were smaller than hers, easier to thread the needle._

"That's because you have beautiful, dextrous fingers," Hermione told him blushing. He frowned again, examining his hands.

_They are sufficient for the tasks I set before them_, he signed back.

"Well, I find them very beautiful."

He raised an eyebrow. _This explains a great deal, Hermione, about why you so enjoy speaking to me this way. _

"No! Well, maybe. A little." The blush on her cheeks deepened. _Caught you, minx,_ he thought as she sniffed. "It's a pleasant bonus."

They stared at each other for a short while, a battle of wills. He won when she cleared her throat, turned her back on him, and said, "You still have one more letter, Severus."

He nodded, inspecting the high-quality parchment carefully. When he noted the seal on the wax, however, he cast several detection charms – and several looking specifically for Darker spells. For Draco to be writing to him now, when he'd sent him a rather vehement missive his first day awake full of anger and threats, meant he _had_ be paranoid about this particular piece of post.

True to his thoughts, he lifted a nasty little jink from the wax seal itself that would have activated had he opened the letter. _Clever – you are your father's son._

"Sorry," Hermione looked chagrined. "I didn't catch that one."

He shrugged. He hadn't expected to her to – it was just borderline Dark enough that it wasn't something she would have learned from a book or school, unless she'd been sorted in Slytherin.

A final check, and he opened the seal, scanning the contents. His eyebrows lifted in surprise, and he read it again. From his peripheral, he could see Hermione barely restraining her curiosity. Taking his time to muse over the letter, he let her squirm. Oh, she was _bursting_ with the need to know. This was more entertaining than stirring while George waited. He could _see_ her desire to know. It was amusing, and he dragged it out as long as he could. Just as she had caved, mouth opening to inquire, he folded the missive once more and extended it to her.

She sprang from her seat, snagging the letter and planting her arse on the arm of his chair. Pushing her wild hair away from his face, he scowled, settling as far back from the curls as he could, and flicked his wand at the Ministry invitation once more. At least if the blasted thing got shredded he'd feel cheerier about it.

Listening to the ticking of claws on his floorboard, along with the occasional thunk as a furry behind collided with a wall as he kept the Ministry invitation moving, he mused on Draco's letter. The boy had apologised, which has been surprising, but he assumed that to be his mother's influence. Or the girl he was courting with 'serious intent', Astoria Greengrass. _Merlin, is everyone getting married?_ Draco'd informed him that Lucius had passed in Azkaban – and he felt a twinge of loss at that. Lucius had been his friend once, to some extent, albeit he'd been much closer to Cissy. His friendship with Lucius had been more of an exchange of power and favors, both attempting to maintain position over the other. At least the man had passed peacefully, finally realising how much more important family had been.

That he'd usually been held in esteem over Lucius had been a point of contention with Draco once the boy had gotten older, and his father's influence stronger. As a small child, he'd been sweet, albeit a bit spoiled. Lucius had been too busy with work to "coddle the boy", and he'd been left in Narcissa's hands. Severus had had a good deal of time with him as a child while Narcissa played hostess. They were happy memories for him, at the least.

"I didn't realise you'd fallen out with him," she murmured. "You're so private...I'm sorry. I'm glad he seems to want to make amends."

Severus shrugged again, careful not to dislodge her from her perch. Yes, Draco seemed genuine, and had alluded to Hermione – that had been curious, but he was glad it didn't attract any sort of attention from her.

"Do you and 'your lady friend' want to accept his offer to go for tea?" she twisted on the arm of his chair to look at him.

He tilted his head, considering. _You would not mind_? he asked. _Do not think you need to accompany me to translate – I can easily manage with quill and parchment._ She shook her head, mouth set and eyes determined.

"Not too much, no, as long as I don't have to go into the drawing room, and you stay with me as much as possible. My last stay wasn't pleasant and I'd feel safer with you until I can replace the bad memories with good ones." Noting the little lines of strain, he nodded in acquiescence, realising what it would cost her. "It's to be with you, not to _help_ you. They're important to you."

But he could tolerate New Years' with her friends, and he'd stay by her side at the Manor. Hermione relaxed as he nodded in acquiescence, sliding from the arm of the chair into his lap.

"Thank you," she said softly, kissing him. "Speaking of invitations... my parents are spending Easter at a convention this year. Apparently Captain Kirk will be there, and Dad's totally thrilled – Ron wanted to know if we'd come to the Burrow instead, if you don't have any plans already."

Seeing as how she'd pinned his hands beneath her, he gave her a wry look. She grinned cheekily at him, pulled his head down, and kissed him again rather thoroughly while Nothing shredded that damn invitation to ribbons. He'd have to see if she wanted to think his hands beautiful again tonight; Merlin, how he loved to touch her...

* * *

Severus had, delightfully, re-discovered how to use the Floo. He could spell out where he needed to go, and concentrate. It was closer to Apparition, now, but he didn't have to have been to the place before. It took a little bit of trial and effort, but he'd managed it, and he was certainly going to keep it a secret.

Which was why he was gleefully standing in George Weasley's home with a carefully-wrapped bar of homemade soap. (Muggles had directions for _everything _on the internet, it was so bloody useful). After the last bit of trouble he'd caused, George had modified his wards to deny Severus entrance...but he _hadn't_ modified the Floo. This was going to be brilliant.

Making his way to the bathroom once more, he examined Weasley's soap, then transfigured the one he'd brought into an exact replica. Cringing, he even moved the little hairs on the soap bar to the new one, and a complex bit of Charms later, the scent was identical.

Two weeks til Easter. Two weeks until this glorious, glorious plan came to fruition. Vanishing the old bar of soap, he returned to the Floo and took off with a smirk.

* * *

Clearly, the Ministry didn't _care_ about the opinions of their so-called war heroes. He, Hermione, Harry, and most of the Order had let them know in no uncertain terms their feelings on the issue of the ball. Their arguments had fallen on deaf ears, even Minerva's threat to unleash Molly Weasley on them hadn't made Kingsley waver a bit, though Percy had blanched nicely.

"We're going to have to go," Hermione moaned into her pillow that night, looking utterly exhausted. "Those sneaky bastards – no offense, love – _knew _we'd object! No wonder Ron and I didn't catch wind of it... and they did it all and – ugh!" She gave a frustrated little scream, and he stroked a soothing hand down her back.

Catching her attention, he got her to roll over so she could watch him reply. _I don't want to pander to sycophantic Ministry worker-bees,_ he told her. _Unfortunately, it will be necessary. I do not agree with with what they are doing_ – a scowl darkened his expression. _However, a celebration would be better than a great many things. We will be – well, __you__ will be – expected to make speeches. And they cannot control the content of those speeches_.

Her eyes sparkled and she sat up, the sheet draping around her hips. He tried vainly to get a glimpse of where her camisole had crept up, exposing the skin of her side. She kissed his nose. "You're a wonderful, wicked man, Severus."

He preened under her praise and pulled her down flush against his for a kiss that quickly grew passionate, his tongue tangling with hers. She made the soft sigh of surrender he was well-acquainted with, resting her weight on his body, breasts soft and firm against his chest. Their kisses slowly went from passionate to languid, and she gazed down at him with hot eyes.

"I love you," she murmured, pulling back. His expression softened and he kissed her again, slowly, gently. His hands were otherwise occupied, gripping her hips as he ground slowly up against her. He tried to put everything he felt into his kisses, grateful she didn't insist on him constantly replying to her. She knew full well he loved her, and that he preferred to show her than tell her.

But Merlin, those words on her lips tasted like ambrosia.

* * *

They were due at the Malfoy's tomorrow, and Hermione was fretting. He scowled, Banishing all of the dresses she'd pulled out and dumped onto her bed, where he was uncomfortably perched.

_Cease this foolishness_, he chided. _I don't particularly give a shite what you wear._

"But _they_ might, and they're your family – friends, whatever you prefer to call them – and I want them to accept me." She looked near tears over something as nonsensical as a dress.

He rolled his eyes. _Hermione, if they do not, that does not change anything. It simply means you will no longer be invited along. I do not accompany you on every excursion you have; why in Merlin's name would you have to do the same?_

Chagrined, she dropped onto the mattress, nearly dislodging him. He favored her with a sneer for it. "I'm sorry – I don't know why I'm so worked up about it."

Snorting, he pulled her into his arms. _Foolish, sentimental Gryffindor_, he thought, not uncharitably, rubbing his chin along the top of her head. He would have to shave again before heading to her parents', he could feel the stubble catching. Pressing a kiss to her curls, he looked around her nearly-bare room with a wry smile.

"Severus?" Hermione's voice was cautious, as if she couldn't decide between anger and curiosity. "_Where_, exactly, did you Banish all my dresses?"

He let her pull away so he could respond. He gave her an impatient look. _I sent them home, of course. It'll save you a trip later. Merlin only knows why you keep this flat._

She opened her mouth to reply, then closed it. Opened, closed. Opened, closed.

_Quit imitating a fish, _his fingers snapped out.

"Are you asking me to move in with you?" she asked.

_I do not recall asking_ _any such thing. _Was she angry? Had he been too presumptuous? He could bring the dresses back, but he'd been making room for her accumulating books and clothes subtly over the past weeks. Had she truly not noticed that she barely returned here? That there was always a place for things she brought or left?

He glanced away from her twisting her fingers, only to suddenly find himself knocked backwards, curls falling around his face and his arms full of a witch murmuring 'yes' repeatedly, punctuating each one with kisses.

* * *

Her parents had taken the news or her relocation surprisingly well, exchanging an amused glance before Anthony launched into a tale of his latest patient who'd come in for a cleaning.

"He had the gall to tell me it hurt," Anthony was saying as Jean smiled. "Do you know what I told him, Scotty?"

Severus shook his head, busying his hands with his dinner. Scotty again. He had a proper name, damn it. But if it made her parents happy, he'd accept it...provided, of course, such a name was not uttered in public. He'd get used to it. Eventually. He was attempting to, at any rate, and some days he fared better than others.

"I told him it wasn't supposed to hurt, he told me -" here, he mimed a rather grumpy face, "'well it ruddy does hurt!' So I informed him that if he brushed more often, it wouldn't hurt as much."

Lips twisting into a dry smile, he let Hermione and Jane giggle at the tale. Anthony looked rather pleased, then excused himself to seek out a glass of wine.

Glancing over her shoulder, Jean caught his attention. "By the way, Severus, thanks for the tip on how to look for potions in liquids."

_That_ caught his attention. The Aurors still hadn't caught the bugger messing with Muggles with magical kin? He knew Hermione'd warned her parents, and he'd taken it upon himself to show them both – Jean translating – how to check for potions added to their beverages. With their permission, he'd also warded their home, so this had to have happened at Jean's work, at the school with the deaf. That could have been disastrous. His expression darkened; someone had targeted Harry's relative, and now Hermione's. It was either coincidence, or it boded ill.

_Did you happen to save a sample, as I requested?_ he inquired carefully. Jean nodded, rising and fetching a Tupperware container of liquid. Tilting his head in thanks, Severus pulled parchment and pen from his coat pocket, scrawling a note, then passed it to Hermione.

"I'll send it off, back in a moment," Hermione said as she passed her father on the way to their owl after glancing down at the address.

"Not a problem," Anthony said cheerfully, seating himself with his wine, handing a second glass to his wife. "I was correct that you didn't want one, right, Scotty?"

Severus nodded; he rarely drank. Hermione dropped a kiss on his head upon her return, and he mused over the whole thing as the topic changed to the convention they'd be going to next week. With any luck, Weasley would have it sorted by then.

* * *

He'd been forced to Apparate the both of them to the Manor gates before Hermione could bolt back into the bedroom to change her dress _again_, resulting in another stint of her 'fixing' her hair. By the way she was fidgeting next to him, she was upset.

Grasping her shoulders, he sighed and turned her to face him.

_Calm yourself_, he told her, face impassive. _You are beautiful, Hermione. _She gave him a wan smile, fingers twisting nervously. _You do not have to come, I can easily make your excuses._

She shook her head. "I want to be here with you."

He nodded. _You may indicate you wish to leave at any time._

Rising on tiptoe, she brushed her lips against his cheek. "Thank you, love."

* * *

He had to give her credit – she'd done admirably. Oh, he didn't blame her for the tiff with Draco, he was surprised she'd lasted as long as she had, and his nose would heal just fine. He wasn't upset about the shattered teacup that had frozen Narcissa's smile in place – a quick Reparo and the damage was mended.

Cissy had, of course, been as perfect as a hostess as she could, avoiding the drawing room with practiced ease. The garden had been warm enough, for April, and Draco had made a concerted attempt. They'd both been patient with the delay in his replies..until Hermione confessed she couldn't translate it as quickly as her mother and Draco made a disparaging remark.

That had been the catalyst and she'd politely tried to disagree and change the subject. Apparently, Cissy's hostess skills had failed her then – _Most likely ashamed of the spectacle Draco was making of himself_ – and it had escalated quickly.

He hadn't been so upset about being unable to speak for months, he'd realised as he lay next to Hermione in bed that night, trying ignore the snoring from the small dose of Dreamless Sleep she'd needed. Overall, it had gone well – he'd reconnected with the Malfoys, which was a step in the (he assumed) right direction.

Sighing, Hermione turned in her sleep, nuzzling the pillow, and he rolled to press himself against her, draping an arm around her waist to join her in sleep.

* * *

Severus grunted as he bumped his shin into a stack of books after evading the boxes containing Hermione's computer. Scowling, he flicked his wand, sending them flying onto the shelves. (In the correct order, thank you, his shelves were spelled _perfectly_ for sorting the tomes they contained.) Where in Merlin's name had she been _hiding_ all of these things in her flat?! This was ridiculous. Ludicrous. They were due at the Burrow in two hours and she still hadn't finished unpacking. In fact, she seemed to have wandered off, damn it.

A moment later, he was thankful she had, because Nothing sprang out of the nearest box, attacking his trousers. He jumped nearly a foot in the air, and barely restrained from hexing the kitten. Instead, he managed a vicious hiss, which sent the little beast scurrying from the room.

_Damn it_.

* * *

So far, Easter was passing pleasantly. They'd arrived early, much to his chagrin, and he'd even bothered offering to assist in the kitchen before being chased out by Molly when he deviated from his assigned task to fix her gravy. Clearly, in her addled mind all Potions Masters could do was chop things. The gravy had been _lumpy_, for Merlin's sake. And a little bland.

Scowling, he stalked past Hermione and Ginny at the dining table and out into the sunshine of the yard. He wondered how long the sunshine would last – in his experience it _always_ rained on Easter.

He prowled the gardens for a while, surreptitiously pocketing a few herbs – _I may need to renovate the back yard, plant a few cooking herbs for myself_ – and tossing an dirty little gnome that had had the audacity to attempt to run past him far over the garden wall. He doubted his theft would be noticed, and highly doubted the gnome would be missed.

Feeling rather pleased with himself, he headed back inside, only to find a gaggle of Weasleys (and a Potter as well as Hermione herself) surrounding the Floo. Everyone was speaking at once, but the overall tone was shock.

"JUST SOD OFF!" George yelled, pushing his way through the crowd, face as flaming as his hair. He stopped short as he caught sight of Severus.

Severus forced down the victorious smirk that he so dearly wanted to display, and instead managed a look of disinterested shock as he regarded his employer's _fantastic_ breasts.

_Definitely the fresh mugwort – worked much more efficiently than the dried_. He made eye contact with Hermione, who quickly went from shocked to angry to amused. She laughed, and George whirled around, presumably to glare at her, making the breasts he sported jiggle enticingly.

"Nice tits," said Bill, poking at one. "Are they real, George?"

"Certainly _feel_ real," Charlie answered, grinning, poking the other.

Aghast, George covered himself and turned around. "SNAPE! REVERSE IT!"

"Both of you, knock it off!" Hermione said, slapping both Bill and Charlie on the head. "You wouldn't like it if someone reached over and grabbed your equipment – or Fleur's, Bill – so leave your brother alone!"

Ginny was laughing too hard to stand, and Harry helped her over to the couch. Percy straightened his spine and rejoined his father at the radio.

"Reverse it," George whined pleadingly. "You're brilliant at potions and stuff – fix it!"

Reaching for parchment and quill, Severus began an inquiry, as if he didn't _know_ how it had been done. Asked about changes to routine, if he'd annoyed anyone lately, was it a spell, did he think, or a potion? Charm or curse? Hex or jinx? Was he working on anything new at work containing certain ingredients that may have interacted or been absorbed into his skin?

His list of questions was extensive, and he acted as if he was narrowing it down to a few possibilities. He wrote out a list of possible jinxes and hexes, plus ingredients, slowly crossing them off the list. This was gold. George didn't suspect him at all. Brilliant. Utterly brilliant.

By time they'd finished, he'd promised George he'd look into brewing a reversal, that it was probably some of the ingredients he'd handled at work (and Severus had been _sure_ to keep those ingredients on the table along with several others in the lab, _knowing_ George would touch everything) causing a reaction.

In truth, he had three vials of possible reversals in his basement. He was certain the third would work, but the side effects of trying the first two would prove just as amusing as the original prank.

* * *

"Where's Ron?" Hermione asked as they started seating for dinner. "And Martha?"

"Probably want to make an entrance," George said, on arm crossed protectively over his bosom, squashed as he was between Charlie and Percy.

"He Floo'd earlier," Harry volunteered. "Said they had a lead on the guy who's been dosing Muggleborns' relatives with potions and he'd pick up Martha afterward, then be over. So he's probably just a bit late."

"Or she has pregnancy hormones," Ginevra muttered, followed by an soft exclamation of pain. Harry had clearly kicked her. Why – _Oh, Merlin. Congratulations, couldn't wait to start spawning new Potters til after the wedding, could we? Can't wait the two months?_

No one else seemed to have noticed the injury to their baby sister – but whether that was a result of Bill and Fleur's child's attempt to start a food fight with mashed potatoes, or the owl swooping in to land in front of _him_, he wasn't sure.

He sighed as he pried the St Mungo's seal off – _Dunderheads have to bother me on Easter? Can't they think for themselves for once?_ - and scanned the missive.

He rose suddenly, signed to Hermione, _It's Martha Poppins – Weasley, whatever – she's run into a complication, but likely nothing serious. I'll keep in touch, don't fret, love,_and left.

"But the _ham_!" wailed Molly at his retreating back. "Severus, you'll miss the _ham_!"

"It's important," Hermione told her reassuringly. "He'll be quick, don't worry, we'll save him some, he'll like the honey glaze, perhaps an end piece?"

Reaching the front door, he spun and Apparated with a crack to the St Mungo's lobby.

* * *

He didn't bother with the receptionist, just headed to the Gunhilda Mothers & Children Ward and a used a quick Point Me charm, focusing on Martha.

"I will wait, thank you _very _much, before taking one of your potions," came the politely cheerful voice from the room his wand led him to.

"Mister Snape is _not_ a Healer," came an exasperated reply. "And this potion will help with the trouble, Miss Poppins."

"_Missus Weasley_,_" _Martha corrected primly as Severus entered the room quite unnoticed. "And while he may not be a licensed Healer, he's a Potions _Master_, and has been brewing my prenatal potions and will know of any interactions."

How she knew it'd been him sending the potions didn't bother him – Weasley wasn't _that_ thick. Instead, he moved his focus to swiftly transfiguring a curtain into a chalkboard and the asinine Healer's clipboard into a piece of chalk, he directed it to scrawl out, **Indeed. Good evening, Madame Weasley.**

She positively beamed at him, hands folded over her belly, and he tried not to scowl too deeply. "Mister Snape! How lovely of you to come!"

"Healer Linden," said the pudgy man in atrocious lime-green robes. Severus favored him with a sneer. "I don't think your services are needed, but the patient was insistent. Would you _please _tell her that it's perfectly safe to take her potion?"

Severus plucked the vial from the man's soft hands and inspected it. Lavender in hue, smelling faintly of – nutmeg? yes, nutmeg – and had the consistency of glop.

A flick of his wand to wipe the board, and another flick to write across it once more. **She is currently taking the Bonham Vitamin Elixir, Wildsmith Powder, and Gorsemoor's Gelatin.**

"So?" asked the wizard, tugging at a sleeve impatiently.

Severus rolled his eyes. **This is Alderton's Relief.**

"_Clearly_," the man bit out. Martha just smiled.

He wiped the board once more. **Alderton's relief includes fluxweed, as well as lavender and mermaid mucus. When combined with the strained newt eyes in Gorsemoor's and the powdered mustard in Wildsmith's, it has a 38% chance of causing a miscarriage.**

Healer Linden still looked unconcerned, and Martha paled.

**If you add in the bouncing bulbs and ginger from Bonham's, that chance of a miscarriage is 107%**, Severus wrote with a snarl. **You are a bloody idiot! Did you not even _inquire_ as to what she was already taking? **

The man was looking decidedly unhappy. "It's common practice to -"

**TO WHAT? **The chalk spat across the board. **To cause the death of a small child? Are you incompetent? Incapable of thinking for yourself? You are a puling pustule of a human being and I should force-feed you aconite, you insipid little worm. Rest assured,** the chalk scrawled, **I shall be speaking with - **

He paused, suddenly. That was an unusual feeling. He'd felt this particular twinge twice. Once, on the night the Potters had been murdered, and on the day Quirrell had jinxed a certain eleven year-old's broom. A twinge that meant a life-debt could potentially be called upon. And only one person had saved his life in recent years.

The pull on his magic made him sick to his stomach, and he managed to flick his wand once more at the board.

**A tincture of mimulus flower, paired with a heavily-diluted peppermint tonic. Give it to her, then leave and assign an intelligent Healer.**

Darting from the room, he ran to the curse ward, pushing past Aurors to view the pale, blood-spattered form being transferred to the bed.

_No, no, no, no, no. How had this happened?_

"That's a hell of a curse wound," muttered Healer Smythe. "We're going to need to call that bastard Snape in for a consult."

"That bastard's already here," said an Auror, indicating Severus.

Severus frowned, transfiguring another chalkboard and piece of chalk before rapidly casting diagnostics. Oh, that was a hell of a combination. Whoever the caster had been, they'd had help. He was going to need a – curse breaker. And he had access to one.

He flicked his wand at the blackboard. **Don't move. Leave this area clear.**

Then he Disapparated, reappearing in the Burrow's kitchen amid squawks of surprise.

"It's not polite to Apparate into someone's home," Percy said stiffly. Ignoring him, he stalked across the room, and hauled Bill from his seat, checking he had his damn wand.

"Hey! What the bloody hell, Snape?! You can't just -" Severus Apparated, dragging the man along, the crack of their reemergence loud in the hospital room. "- RON!"

Still hauling the elder Weasley by the collar, Severus linked him into the diagnostic spell he'd already cast, sharing with him the full visual of sickening colors.

"Shite," he said, paling, shouldering the Healers out of the way, clearly slipping into work-mode himself. "It's a two-fold curse, it's got a twist here, see?, and it'll need a double-manta reversal. I'll take the top layer. Drop the stasis."

Severus nodded, cancelling the Aurors' charm, and Ronald Weasley bowed back on the bed, wracked with pain. Bill began his piece, and Severus joined in immediately, spelling out his bits with his left hand without realising it. He'd gotten so used to casting silently and spelling for Hermione that he didn't notice.

Both of them worked continuously, peeling back the layers of the spell. Severus forgot about Healer Smythe, about the inept Healer Linden and Weasley's wife, and the surely-concerned Weasleys at the Burrow. He forgot about owing the man before him a life debt for coming back to the Shack for him at the end of the battle, of calling for help instead of leaving him there to die. He forgot about the Aurors in the corridor, about the wife down the hall; he forgot about everything but the sick trails of magic slowly leaving the youngest Weasley boy's body.

It could have been hours or minutes as he sealed the deep gashes with his own healing spell and Bill removed traces of various other magic clinging to his brother. Severus flicked his wand at the chalk. **Essence of Dittany on the wounds, a Blood-Replenishing, and a Healing Potion. Once they've taken effect, assure him of his wife's good health, give him a quarter-dose of Dreamless, and sod off.**

Bill looked up at him, exhausted, and with a great deal less animosity than he had previously. "He'll be alright, then?"

Severus nodded, feeling rather drained himself. **His wife is in the other wing**, he directed the chalk to spell. **Bit of a complication, now resolved. She'll be alright with bed rest. Don't tell her of his condition, it'll only undo the effort I've already expended on her behalf**. **Rather, inform her that my abrupt departure was to inform her new family the reason she was missing dinner. **There. That was banal enough.

Everyone nodded, and he pushed his lank hair back from his face with a tired sneer.

Bill sighed, falling into the hard wooden chair. "Well, this was an adventure."

Ron barely stirred as Healer Smythe applied the Dittany, but they managed to get him to drink the potions without a qualm. They watched for a while longer, until certain he was out of any and all danger and sleeping peacefully.

Bill turned to the Auror at the door – Greely? Severus was fairly certain it was Greely from Ravenclaw- and asked "Did you catch the bastard dosing people?"

"We did! Weasley took him down, it was great. Huggins got the guy's partner, some brewer, after he cast that nasty bit of spellwork. They're both in cells now." Bill nodded, relieved.

Severus inclined his head towards the door. _Shall we?_

"We should go," Bill said, clapping Greely on the shoulder. "Keep us informed, yeah?"

The Auror agreed and they both headed to the lobby's Apparition point and left for the Burrow, to share the good news of both Ron and Martha with the family, as well hopefully eat something. He was bloody starved, and he sorely needed to be near Hermione.

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So. There you go. :) I highly doubt that I shall update again until sometime after my wedding. I might, you never know, but it's doubtful. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter.


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note: I'm back! Settling in back home, my wedding was WONDERFUL! Thanks to all for the well-wishes! **

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**CHAPTER 21**

It took an entire week for the events of Easter to pass over and let life settle back to a comfortable pace. Weasley recovered rather quickly, thanks, in part, to the effort expended by both his brother and Severus himself, and was recuperating in his childhood home. Granted, if you were to hear Molly tell it, it was her homemade soups that were restoring her son to good health. (Hermione had argued that they all knew it had been him but were trying to spare him by not thanking him with classic Gryffindor reactions. He didn't give a shite either way as long as no one insisted on hugging him. Well, except for her.)

The new Healer Martha had procured for herself was less of an imbecile, he'd decided, surreptitiously checking in on her on a consult call to St Mungo's under the guise of dropping off her potions while he was present. She'd been asleep when he'd come, which he preferred – the woman was _much_ too cheerful to begin with, and with her body changing she was almost _nauseating_. He'd rather not lose his lunch, thank you very much. At least she clearly hadn't told anyone of his interference – with the exception of Hermione, they'd all assumed he'd been called initially about Weasley.

He'd neatly avoided any chance to disabuse them of that notion. Just as well; George was due to start the third vial of antidotes tomorrow, which meant an end to this particular round of justice. The first one had made the man sick – violent vomiting, and his freckles had turned a fascinating shade of puce.

The second "attempt" had turned his skin bright green. For some reason, the breasts themselves had turned pink. He'd also been struck with alternating hiccups and a squeaky voice. Severus had, of course, stuck with his employer throughout the whole ordeal, various cauldrons bubbling, assuring him he'd find an answer to correct the problem.

Both vials' effects had faded within twenty-four hours, and Severus had recommended a wait period in-between to "avoid any further interactions". Hopefully after the previous "attempts" and the humiliation would deter his employer from attempting to prank him. At least he'd been so distracted the past week no further attempts had been made. (And better yet, he didn't suspect Severus a bit.)

Even better, Hermione had finished unpacking, and had slotted into his life and home perfectly. He'd taken down his curtains, she'd put up hers. Their furniture shared the space companionably, and he was growing accustomed to having various decorative items in his home – photographs, figurines, trinkets, and even a snowglobe with a fairy inside that made his jaw twitch with the urge to shatter it whenever his gaze fell upon it. She'd wisely placed it in the second bedroom (with a huff) when she'd noticed him fingering his wand thoughtfully. The furniture that hadn't fit had been shrunk and stored, along with her holiday decorations, and she'd fit her computer in beside his in the basement.

They'd fit into a routine – less nights at her parents, more nights at home, sharing tasks in the kitchen and wearing themselves out shelving books and putting away clothes

Tonight, he'd accepted Cissy's invitation to a rather uneventful dinner. Upon his informing her, Hermione'd kissed his cheek and told him she'd be fine with sandwiches, or she'd meet with Lovegood for fish and chips. He wondered if she'd missed him, and marveled at her trust in him – he didn't know of any women (not that his knowledge was particularly extensive) who wouldn't be suspicious of a man taking dinner alone in the home of a newly-single woman. He knew he wouldn't be quick to trust any man out with her alone, with the exception of Harry or the Weasleys. Maybe Longbottom, much as he loathed to admit it. Hell, Albus would have found a way to scry his activities, he brooded with a scowl. Often, he'd thought the old man hadn't truly trusted him as much as he'd professed.

On the other hand, Hermione clearly knew him well. _Then again, if my past is worth anything, she knows I am nothing if not loyal_, he thought wryly, unlocking the front door quietly. The house was quiet, the lit window upstairs and a lone mug on the kitchen counter the only indication that Hermione had been present that evening.

He frowned. Severus wasn't used to coming home like this – either he knew his house was empty, or Hermione was home with several lights on. Indulging his own paranoid nature, a quick Revelio showed a single human in the main bedroom, while a tug at his wards identified the magical signature as hers. _She's probably lost in a tome_, he thought, allowing himself a small smile.

If he was honest, he loved having Hermione living with him. She'd expressed concern that she'd be a burden – he'd scoffed at the mere thought, but she was adamant – so they'd come to an agreement, of sorts. The house was paid for, so they split the electric and internet, shared the household chores, and she happily paid for groceries that he turned into their meals (with her assistance). Severus hadn't wanted her to think she was imposing (she wasn't), but nor did he want her to think that he was incapable of supporting her.

Stowing his coat in the front hall closet next to hers, he fingered the material of her coat. She'd taken her role as grocery-purchaser seriously, dragging him to a Muggle supermarket so he could show her what he preferred, even as she'd pulled crisps from the shelf for her own. Granted, she'd also insisted he show her how to buy such things in the wizarding world – she hadn't known. He'd have to owl Minerva, suggest perhaps a basic class for graduating Muggleborns who wouldn't know such things right away. Diagon Alley for wizarding supplies, yes, and perhaps clothing – but not for basic foodstuffs...

Nudging his shoes into their proper place, he padded to the stairs, mounting them slowly, deliberately creaking the fourth step. He'd already terrified her thrice, and two of those times she'd had wand in hand. Near misses, but at least they'd been able to find the humor in the situation and repair the resulting holes in the wall.

The bedroom door was mostly shut, and he rapped on it softly before pushing it open, already ready to use a shielding charm, just in case.

As it turned out, the charm was entirely unnecessary, for his witch was sprawled across her half of the bed, breathing deep and even, book forgotten and draped across her stomach. Not even sparing it a glance, he removed it from her person, marked her place, and placed it upon her nightstand, exhaling irritably as he brushed the chocolate wrappers into the refuse bin. Since when did the wench eat in bed?

Wondering if she'd even remember where she'd left off in her book when she later woke, he quickly performed his evening ablutions. It was warm enough that he wouldn't need a nightshirt – something Hermione was trying to get him to stop wearing, namely by taking it off of him regularly – so he opted for soft sleep pants instead.

It didn't matter to Severus how much she accepted him, he still felt the need to hide himself. And yet at the same time, he still felt the need to hold tightly to her. If he was honest with himself, he'd admit that he was easily obsessive by nature – probably the product of years of being poor and mistreated. He'd learned early that that food was scarce and he'd hidden food from his father, and had eagerly glutted himself at Hogwarts til Cissy had forced table manners into him. He'd clung to several small oddities he'd picked up around school, and hoarded several things that Hermione would likely laugh at if he chose to regale her with stories of his past.

But that was the past – and now all he had to cling to was this woman, whom he had dreamt of for so long, and loved so dearly that he'd kept that damn cat sleeping on the sofa cushions, and let her father call him by a nickname. Hell, he'd clearly wanted her so much that he'd redone his home. And he _hated_ change. He preferred the comfort of the everyday. And yet... and yet, he was _happy_. Finally happy. It was...odd. Cissy had even risked his ire to point it out to him.

It wasn't that he wanted to be unhappy – far from it – he was simply used to the world thumbing its nose at him, leaving him cold and alone and angry. How he'd managed to garner the warm affections of such a beautiful woman stymied him. At least all he had to do now was not bollocks it up...

Scowling at his own thoughts (this was why he shouldn't have accepted the damn glass of elf-made wine, for fuck's sake, he had so little tolerance and it made him maudlin), he headed to bed, flicking his wand to extinguish the lights, burrowing under the covers in darkness. At least they were finding themselves more comfortable with each other each passing day, and he was finding it easier to be open with her.

"Mmm," came from his left, and a small hand crept into his with a soft sigh. "Sev'rus."

Lips curving into a soft smile in the dark and safety of their home, he gripped her hand in return. Sometimes, perhaps, dreams _did _come true.

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Yes, it's a short chapter. No, I'm not ending the entire story yet. See you soon~!


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note: Working on earning that rating this chapter. ;)**

**Posted 2 days after ch 21 - you may need to go back!**

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**CHAPTER 22**

_Dreaming again_, he thought drowsily. And a pleasant dream it was, too. Soft, warm hands were exploring him – hands that could only belong to Hermione, in their shape and texture and familiarity, but were more confident than she'd ever been.

A soft caress of his chest, a plucking at his flat nipples and he sighed, slipping back into sleep. This was lovely. Oh, they enjoyed exploration of each other, and while he'd become comfortable with her, she remained hesitant.

But the hands that unbuttoned his bottoms were most definitely _not_ tentative, and he was most definitely responding to the fingers that combed through the crisp black hair curled there before gently circling his cock. Those same fingers slowly caressed him, stroked him, making him harder with each pass.

Exhaling shakily, he clung to sleep. _Oh, Merlin, Hermione..._ She was so confident as she touched him, and his hips moved lazily, encouraging the soft hand to grip him more firmly. He shuddered, trying to stay in this dream where she touched him, explored him, her other hand cupping his balls. Curls brushed his stomach; the muscles there jumped, then tensed as warm breath brushed over the tip of his cock.

A soft sigh escaped him, her tongue tracing his length. Curls slid across his legs, and he was vaguely aware of the bed dipping beside him. The hand cupping his sac squeezed gently, and he shot awake, fisting his hand in wild curls as her mouth engulfed him.

_Oh, Merlin, oh, mercy, not a dream, not a dream, oh **Hermione**!_ Bucking under her attention, she didn't stop, letting him hit the back of her throat with his cock. She moaned at that – she fucking _moaned_, her throat warm and wet around his girth, the vibrations making his breath shaky with each exhalation.

She didn't even protest what surely must have been a sharp tug on her hair, sliding her lips up and down. Fire was burning in his blood as she increased speed, and he couldn't stop from panting harshly. It felt so good – everything was heat and lust, bubbling through his veins. Severus felt nearly dizzy with it. What had come over her, to make her so wanton, so self-assured?

Pulling on her mane, he forced her away from his cock, which twitched in loss, wanting to plunge itself into her slick mouth.

_Merlin_... Her lips were plump and swollen already, wet with her saliva and, he'd wager, his own precum. He could feel it beading at the tip, and as much as he ached for her to continue, he _had _to know she was doing this of her own volition.

"Why are you stopping me?" Her darkened eyes searched his. "Am I hurting you?"

Severus shook his head, loathe to remove his hand from her hair to ask. He stared at her instead, willing her to understand what he needed to know.

"Severus?" She studied him, tongue darting out to wet her lips. "I know I don't usually just..attack you in your sleep, but I -" , blushing prettily, she continued, "-I want, _need_, to do this right now. I've craved you all day..."

Hermione sighed and he pulled her up the length of his body to kiss her deeply, passionately. She pressed close to him, but shied away from his attempts to caress her in return. Smiling, she drew away.

"I want to do this for you, love, please?" How could he refuse those entreating eyes? That loving smile that turned sultry as she glanced down at his manhood, turgid and straining towards his belly. He let her go, sliding down his body again, dropping kisses on his skin as she went.

"So hard..." Her voice was a murmur and she pressed her lips to the tip of his erection. "_I _make you hard, Severus..."

And then there were no more words, for she grasped the base of his shaft and licked her lips before nearly taking all of him at once. He couldn't stop himself from sucking in vainly for air, or from trying to plunge deeper into her throat, even when she gagged. It felt delicious, the constriction, and his fingers tightened in her hair.

_Merlin, yes-!_ So warm. So wet. So bloody tight as his love pleasured him. Love burned under his skin; lust flushed his cheeks; joy surged through his veins. It felt so good. He felt so desired, so wanted, and it was heady.

Reaching across the bed, he stole her pillow, propping himself up. Watching her, seeing his own cock sliding between her lips accompanied with the _sensation _as her tongue pressed the underside of his shaft was more arousing than he had expected.

His breath was coming in gasps as Hermione sucked him harder and he fought not to thrust repeatedly into her mouth. As it was, she was making little sounds that vibrated all the way down his shaft to his balls. Little moans and whimpers, hums of pleasure, as she took him as deep as she could.

Everything in him was centered on his manhood. Every brush of her teeth, every stroke of her tongue, the puffs of air she took in and out, the tightness of her mouth around him.. he was inflamed. Pleasure seared his mind even as she cupped him again, squeezing so gently, and then, oh, then, she focused on the very tip of him.

Air was impossible – his body sung with the need for release. He was nearing a precipice, and he was so, so close... all he needed was a little push, a nudge, and he could fall...Her mouth tightened around him, her tongue rubbing just under the head, and he panted, breath burning in his lungs. He gripped her hair, wordlessly begging her to keep going.

_So close, don't stop, oh, Merlin, don't stop – so close, so close, oh yes, Hermione, yes, yes, yes, yesyesyesyesyesyesyes-! _Losing control of his own body, he thrust into her mouth, back arching, his head falling back, as his world burst into light and color behind his eyelids. He felt glorious, incandescent, the way he pulsed, draining himself into her, and she suckled him now, laving him clean with swipes of her tongue. He felt pure, whole, wanted, sated.

When he managed to open his eyes she was staring at him breathlessly and he sat up to meet her, laughing soundlessly and kissing her again. He poured everything into his kiss – his thanks, his love, his desire. Hermione returned his languid kiss, and Severus cupped her breast. She pulled away again and he looked at her in consternation. She did not want him to touch her? Had he misstepped?

"Sorry," she managed. "Um, it's... well, it's that time, and...as much as I want you to reciprocate, you'll need to wait a few days."

A flush stained his cheeks and hers. _Ah_. It wasn't that he was a stranger to the cycle of the female body – quite the opposite, since he _had _been the Head of Slytherin house – it was that this was his first true experience with such a thing directly. _Well,_ he mused drily, _this explains the crisps and chocolate wrappers._

"Trust me," Hermione said softly, eyes blazing. "I want you, Severus. Don't doubt that, please? It's just really, really gross down there right now. I'm sorry."

At her pleading tone, his expression became knowing, a smirk curving his lips. He stroked her cheek gently, then cupped her face in his hands. Staring into her eyes, he watched hers grow darker. _Legilimens!_ he commanded. Not deep – just the surface, like last time. This was going to be fairly tricky, but he was fairly certain it could be done. At least, if he failed, there'd be no repercussions for her mind. He knew his own abilities, knew her, her mind...

Ignoring the spring-green of curiosity that flared, he searched for the thread of arousal instead. It sparkled in his mind and he took hold of it firmly. It sang brightly in his, and he pulled every sensation-memory of her touching him to the fore.

Hermione whimpered, eyes widening helplessly. Her cheeks darkened, and he pulled her closer, letting her nipples, hardened into peaks, press into his bare chest. Severus fed more sensations to her, the warmth, the gathering fire, and she was rocking against the bed. Her nails dug into his arms, trying desperately to keep her eyes open as he built the feelings. He could _feel_ her, now, feel her body tensing next to him, and she was climbing higher, breath coming in gasps.

Merlin, he was glad he hadn't tried this before. If he hadn't just come, he wouldn't have the concentration for this. As it was, Hermione's moans were incredibly arousing, and he added that desire. _Come, Hermione, come for me, love – _she was so close, he could feel it in her, cresting, welling up in her...and then she cried his name in wonder and pleasure, her eyes closing and breaking the connection. _Sweet fuck_, he thought in awe, holding her close as she trembled with each wave, pulse pounding in her throat.

Smug. He felt smug, looking down at the witch in his arms. He should probably do some more research on this, submit a paper – _How the fuck can I think of a research paper when I just made her come with nothing more than my mind?_ he wondered. Her eyes fluttered open.

"Amazing," she breathed, staring up at him. "That was – _you_ are amazing, Severus..."

Reaching up, she tugged him down for a kiss. It was slow, gentle. "I didn't know you could do that..."

He shrugged, and released her to reply. _Nor did I, love. It was a spur of the moment idea._

She blinked at him. "You're brilliant. I wasn't kidding when I told Gin your mind was one of the sexiest things about you."

Smiling, she pulled him down to the bed, curling up next to him, her head on his chest. It was some time of silence before she spoke again. "Mmm... thank you, Severus."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her curls in response.

"Oh – at least this has good timing." Her voice was soft, almost tentative, and he caressed her arm, encouraging her to continue. "Well... by time my period is over, I can start taking Bowlfense's Draught. And, well.. that should be active right around the Ministry's ball, if you wanted to..."

_Oh, sweet Merlin_. She was telling him she was ready and wanted to give herself to him. His mouth dried and he held her tighter, lips buried in her hair. Was _he_ ready? Yes. Anything she wanted, he would give to her.

"Good." Hermione sounded a little smug herself, and she nuzzled his chest happily. "Goodnight, Severus. I love you."

_And I you_, he thought, closing his eyes with a pleasant exhalation. _For you are better than any dream of you could ever hope to be._

* * *

Another thud from upstairs, and a groan. Severus raised his eyes from the Prophet and scowled. This had gone on long enough. Rising, he pocketed an item from the table and stalked to the stairs, ascending them quickly and pushing open the bedroom door.

He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the small woman managing to make so much noise. She was contorted into an odd position, grimacing, her hands pressed in fists to her abdomen. Ignoring the rising color on his cheeks, he tapped his foot, eyebrow arched expectantly.

With a pitiful noise, Hermione turned to look at him, then pouted.

"Be nice to me – it hurts." The eyebrow arched further. He wasn't used to her _whinging_ at him. "Feels like I'm being stabbed, or punched..something painful."

Nostrils flaring, he crossed to her, dropping the vial he'd plucked from the table onto her stomach.

_If you'd come down to breakfast instead of hosting your own pity party_, he signed,_ you would have found this awaiting you at your seat._

Severus watched as she didn't even check the label, uncorking the vial and downing the contents. She sighed in relief.

_I brewed enough for a week_, he told her bluntly. _As I was unsure how long your cycle tends to last. _

"I should warn you – I whine when I don't feel well," Hermione said, allowing him to haul her to her feet. He gave her a wry look, and she offered him a teeny smile. "I didn't mean to bother you."

_You don't_. Dropping a chaste kiss to her knuckles, he dropped her hand and headed back down to finish his paper before he needed to leave for the shop.

It didn't take much longer for her to make her way downstairs, hair brushed and clipped back, Ministry robes brushing against the floor over her sensible skirt and blouse. She stooped to brush a kiss to his cheek on her way past to the teapot atop the warmer on the counter, then joined him, dispelling the stasis charm on her plate.

"Bernard," Hermione began, aggrieved, speaking of the head of the committee she was appealing to for house elves, "wants to have an important hearing today – I think he's trying to push back my court date, the bastard."

She bit viciously into the toast she'd just liberally slathered with jam. All in all, angry eating aside, he was pleased that she had excellent table manners, despite the behavior he'd seen on display from her classmates over the years, and nor had they been damaged by prolonged exposure to the Weasley family.

"I've worked too hard for him to push this back," she said, stabbing a slice of banana. "I've worked for _years_ to make this happen! This is the _last _thing I needed when I checked my planner this morning."

Her planner was a stroke of genius, to his mind – her first year with the Ministry, they'd started pulling bureaucratic bullshit on her, changing meetings, moving rooms, rescheduling, and the like, so she'd retaliated by building a series of spells on a day planner. It scanned her own personal planner, her inbox, and the department's automatically-updated calendar.

And then, in her wisest move, she hadn't _told _anyone about it except him and her parents – possibly Harry or Ginevra, but they weren't about to go mentioning it. It'd drove her coworkers mad, at first, trying to work around her and not knowing _how _she'd done it. Frankly, he was bloody proud of her.

She was still speaking, so he folded his paper and gave her his full attention, listening to her plot out her arguments. She was brilliant, and he was fascinated by her intellect. It was rare for him to find an equal on that field, even if she preferred spells over Potions and still tended to regurgitate facts – it worked well in her line of work, and she was perfectly able to think for herself.

In fact, they'd enjoyed several evenings of Arithmantic speculation – arguing values and working calculations for whatever his current pet project was, or something she was trying to project to argue her case.

And when they fought, he let her say her piece, then shoot her down magnificently – she'd watch his hands, eyes shining, and, to his pride, tell him he was brilliant. It was exhilarating, to be _told _he was brilliant – he bloody well knew he was far more intelligent than most who walked the Earth, but to be told, to have someone looking at him with love and devotion, even as she shot _him_ down... He loved it.

Hermione finished her rant – and her breakfast – and managed to take a calming drink of tea (the very same he'd given her). "Thank you for breakfast – would you like to meet for lunch today?"

Severus shook his head and replied, _Too much brewing today. Should I meet you at the Ministry this evening, or at your parents'?_

"My office would be wonderful," she said, beaming at him. She flicked her wand to set the dishes to washing, dropped another kiss on him, and swept from the room. "See you tonight, love!"

He dropped his head to the table, hair falling across his face. _Merlin, save me from mood swings. If this is what she's like **now**, I loathe to contemplate what she'll be li – _He broke his train of thought and grabbed at his hair. Raising his head and moving closer to the light, he examined, and, yes – _Bloody hell! I've got a gray one!_

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I couldn't help it. Poor Severus. Poor menstruating Hermione.  
Sorry for not answering to reviews yet, but this needed to be written! :-D


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note: Since some of you have asked... there are links to pics of my wedding on my profile page. :) I'll keep updating there, if you're curious.**

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**CHAPTER 23**

Severus stared into the cauldron mournfully. Today had started wonderfully, what with being awoken by Hermione, and now... now, it had taken a decided turn for the worse.

Seven.

He'd found _seven _gray hairs. Really, he shouldn't have looked for more after spotting the first. He just shouldn't have. Furthermore, it shouldn't bother him that he'd begun to gray. There was nothing wrong with having gray hairs, and he had avoided them far longer than everyone he knew – even Cissy'd begun to gray, and Lucius; they'd just chosen to maintain the colour through spells or cleverly-devised potions (and sworn never to tell).

Gray hairs were nothing to be ashamed of – they didn't make him _old_. Not even if Hermione _was_ nearly twenty years his junior, depending on whether or not you counted her use of that bloody Time Turner. He gave the cauldron a half-hearted quarter-stir, lowering the heat to a simmer, and examined his reflection in the murky substance. Maybe he should dye his hair. An all-over dye would be noticeable, and taking a potion was silly for so few hairs – perhaps he should simply charm each hair black.

No, that was stupid. He wasn't going to alter himself with magic – he'd bloody well had the ability to change his nose and teeth for decades, why the fuck would he start with his _hair?_ He sneered at his own face and gave the mixture another stir, setting the rod down on the bench. _Stop sulking_, he told himself. _If Hermione's noticed the gray, she clearly neither cares nor considers them important. If she has not, then they are clearly less noticeable than you think. _Yelling at himself didn't help, and he wondered if _all _of the furred areas on his body held grays. He was actually nearly done outlining the runes and wandwork needed to create a spell to give him that information when he heard a knock on the lab door.

Rising, he swiftly swept his notes into a folder, gave the cauldron a cursory glance – it was perfect thus far – and headed for the door. He sighed. Maybe he should instead use a spell that would show someone how they would look with natural grays in a few decades. It could be adapted to one of their lines that their Ministry contracts practically salivated after. They liked those bloody Shield Charm items and the other disguises. He'd have to make it visible to all, then, rather than just the caster, anchor the spell to something easily carried and unnoticed...

More rapping on the wood, and he yanked the door open, but not before checking the knob for tampering. Not surprisingly, George waited for him on the other side of the wood.

"So, that batch worked!" George said cheerfully. "Look, Snape, I'm tit-free!"

Severus just barely stopped his employer from flashing him. He had absolutely _no_ desire to go blind from what was sure to be an expanse of pale, freckled flesh. Scowling, he stalked to the chalkboard and flicked his wand at it.

**Good for you**, the chalk wrote.

"Aw, don't be that way! C'mon, you gotta admit, I look better without them, Snapey!" Severus pinned him with a glare.

"Not 'Snapey'?" George asked, eyes twinkling eerily like Albus' – damn his ghost. "How about Sev? Sevviekins? Sevviepoo? Honey muffin? Sweetie?"

Snarling, he reached out and grabbed his employer-with-a-deathwish by his shirtfront, yanking him fully into the lab. Proceeding to drag George to the blackboard, he cleaned it with a wave of his hand and picked up the chalk himself.

George fell silent and paled, freckles standing out starkly. _Good_, he thought. The little miscreant had realised his error.

**Were we not in the laboratory, Mister Weasley, I would have hexed you so severely the breasts I gave you would seem like a kind mercy. Luckily for your very life, there are too many volatile things in this room – one of them, however, is my ire, which you have managed to raise.** The chalk nearly snapped in his fingers, he was applying that much pressure against the board. It made an awful scraping sound and George attempted to protect his hearing, but all Severus could fathom was the ringing of his ears, the mockery of his name by his past tormentors. How dare he mock him? Place such a childish theme upon his relationship with Hermione? **I will not tolerate any such insipid or puerile names applied to my person.**

"You – breasts – how -" George stammered, and Severus sneered at him.

**Have I made myself perfectly clear?**

George nodded frantically. Severus released him before busying himself cleaning the chalkboard, teeth clenched in an effort _not_ to reach over and throttle his employer. He knew full well that he hadn't meant to dredge up unpleasant memories for Severus and had only been joking, per the norm, but Severus _hated_ his name being shortened, and he absolutely _despised_ mockery of his name. Perhaps it was the cruelty of neighborhood Muggle children, or his classmates, or the Marauders, but his name was _Severus_, for fuck's sake, and that was what he should be called.

"Sorry," George offered after a moment. His voice was quiet. Was he just _now_ realising that just because Severus couldn't speak that he still had feelings? The thought stung. "I didn't mean to upset you."

Severus shrugged, and moved to the cauldron; a quick dip of the stirring rod displayed it to be done, and he removed it from the heat. At least he could find amusement that even his bouts of temper were timed with his potions.

A breath huffed out behind him. "Anyways – you masterminded the tits, eh?"

_Oh,_ _Merlin._ He could practically _hear _the grin in his voice. Severus rolled his eyes and retrieved the vials they used for packaging.

"Brilliant. Utterly brilliant. Hell – if I hadn't just antagonised you, I would _never_ have guessed! How'd you do it? Could it be made temporary? That'd be utterly _hilarious_ if we could get it to last only a few minutes or hours..." Severus ignored his prattle and began ladling the potion into the vials. This was why he didn't like George to be in the lab. His employer suddenly sobered.

"You did it because I was trying to prank you, didn't you?"

Severus favored him with a sneer. _No, of course not, Mister Weasley, I did it because it was amusing_. He snorted at his own thoughts and resumed his bottling.

"Well, sorry about that." The little miscreant didn't sound the _least_ bit penitent. "Anyways, I wanted to talk to you about Ron. Seems the whole St. Mungo's thing gave him a bit of a scare, what with the elopement and impending arrival of a new Weasley, and he's looking for a different line of work."

_Oh, hell, no_.

"So, I was thinking of putting him in charge of the Hogsmeade shop, and have been for a while – but it means he'd have to know you work here, especially since he has some wickedly funny ideas, and he'd probably need your help with it."

Sighing, Severus thanked Merlin that George wasn't installing his brother _here_, and took the cauldron over to the sink. He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter and pondered it. Weasley did have a good strategic head on his shoulders, despite managing to both impregnate his witch and anger his mother by eloping. It may help the business, as well, to have someone on site who could assist with getting their packages into the school. (It gave him a great deal of satisfaction to know _he_ didn't have to chase down the little degenerate hooligans and supervise the subsequent detentions.)

Further, since he was apparently going to find himself in more contact with the Weasleys already, he may as well _attempt_ to build bridges. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. _I despise being sociable. _

The chalk leapt into action. **I do not want your brother traipsing in and out of this laboratory, as I highly doubt his acumen for Potions has changed since his days as a student, Auror training or no. If he has ideas, he will need to arrange time to meet with me, preferably in a warded office, with the parameters already drawn out. I refuse to listen to inane babble with no direction or ambition.**

George grinned. "I think that's doable. I have your permission, then, to inform him of our arrangement?"

**You do**.

"Great!" George extended his hand, waiting expectantly for Severus to shake it. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Severus cast a wandless reflection shield on his palm and grasped his employer's hand.

**Excellent attempt, Mister Weasley**. Severus left that particular message on the board as he stepped over his employer's twitching body with a satisfied smile to see once the nasty electric shock he'd basically given himself had worn off. He may as well take a trip to Honeydukes – Hermione enjoyed some of their sweets, and if he was going to have a hormonal witch in the house tonight after what was sure to be a grueling day dealing with committees, he was going to be very well prepared indeed.


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Note: Poor Severus.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 24**

He was in the midst of inspecting sugar quills for cleanliness – who _knew _how many foul little children had handled them? - when his mobile vibrated. Odd, he hadn't thought it would work in Hogsmeade. Indeed, upon closer scrutiny, it had one tiny little bar of signal, wavering in and out.

If it hadn't been Hermione who'd sent him a message, no, wait, it vibrated thrice more, four messages from Hermione - he would have ignored it and continued to shop. Instead, he moved to a corner of the store to read her missives and reply, rather than stand in the way of the almost non-existent other shoppers, who seemed blissfully uncaring that Severus Snape was standing in a sweet shop – a rather novel occurrence for him, to be ignored rather than reviled. Still, he'd rather keep his back to the wall, thank you very much.

"Severus, I'm sorry to bother you at work, I hope I didn't mess up your timing or anything, but I need your help. Will you text me back?"

"Severus? I need your help! I've bled through, oh, this is embarrassing, and I'm only on court break and I can't leave the Ministry and I need knickers, maybe a skirt."

"Severus, please! You don't even have to come find me, just pop them into my desk drawer and tell me they're there."

"WHY THE BLOODY HELL AREN'T YOU ANSWERING?"

He smiled widely. Merlin, she was a treasure. He wondered if her hair had crackled with magic as she had written the last. She was glorious when angry. Taking advantage of his single bar of service, he replied to her.

"I'll leave your things in your desk drawer shortly."

Pushing away from the wall, he forwent the sugar quills in favor of pink coconut ice, a few toffees, and selection of nougats. The wizened woman behind the counter seemed patient with him pointing and gesturing, and she even wrapped the chocolates with a length of blue ribbon. He supposed that dealing with the hormonal apes that passed as schoolchildren had taught her a great deal of patience, though it had never done anything in that regard for himself.

As a last-minute impulse, he snatched a sugar rose from the display, and charmed the bloody thing pink. Merlin help him, he was being sentimental. Slipped between the cross of the ribbon, it looked suitably charming, the old witch assured him. Embarrassed, he fought a sallow flush, paid, and headed outside to Apparate home.

It was faster and less suspicious to land directly in the living room rather than the park and walking home – he sent his coconut ice into the kitchen with a flick of his wand, skirted Nothing's attempt to waylay him with pitiful mews – _bloody beast, you have plenty of food and water - _and mounted the stairs to their bedroom. Which drawer did she keep them in?

Not this one.

No, not that one.

The middle drawer. Why the middle drawer? Surely the first would make more sense, but, ah, well, it wasn't his clothing, and in her current frame of mind she'd likely hex him if he moved her things to match his own sensibilities. (His own drawers were pants, socks, undershirts, then Muggle jumpers and shirts, with his proper shirts and trousers hung in the closet, thank you very much.)

He'd almost picked up white knickers when he blushed, actually _blushed_, recalling her initial reason for asking for aid. Black, it was, then, and he tried not to think of the color against the pale blush of her skin. Granted, that only made him remember what she'd said, about – _Oh, Merlin_ – the potion, and that bloody ball...

_...I'm going through her knickers._ The thought came unbidden – he hadn't in any way assisted in unpacking her clothing. She did her own wash, and aside from casually noticing that she was rather fetching clad in just knickers, he hadn't paid them much mind.

And now he was staring into an entire _drawer_ of them. White ones. Pink ones. Black ones. Plain ones. Ones with lace trim. (_Why haven't I seen those before? Is she saving them?_ His cheeks darkened at the very thought.) Ones with patterns. It was very disconcerting to a man who purchased his own pants always the same size, design, and color, and had for a very long time.

Shaking himself from his reverie, Severus slammed the drawer shut, resisting the urge to seek out her bras. Instead, he selected the first work-practical skirt from the closet, shrunk the two items, reclaimed the package of chocolates from the bed, and swept down the stairs. Between one stride and the next, he Apparated to the Ministry.

* * *

No one looked at him strangely in the Ministry, either, same as Hogsmeade. Oh, there were a few curious glances, but then he was dismissed. No glares, no stares, no angry mutters, no itching between his shoulderblades. Just acknowledging that he was there and continuing on. _Bloody odd_.

Then again, he didn't often foray into the wizarding world (aside from St. Mungo's) without concealing his face. Still...it was a definite change from years past.

Hermione's office was empty – Martha had waved cheerily at him, but he had determinedly ignored the blasted woman. All he wanted to do was unward Hermione's desk drawer, leave the garments in it, the chocolates on her desk, and get back to work. He still had three more batches of U-No-Poo to prepare for the fifth anniversary sale George had planned.

...Merlin help Weasley if _anyone _found out _he_ was brewing something with so insipid a name as 'U-No-Poo'.

The wards on her desk allowed him entry with no trouble; her magic recognised him, which was actually very...touching to experience. He couldn't think of anyone who was so tied to him emotionally that their magic, the essence of their being, would recognise him. He didn't even have to touch his wand – her magic grazed his fingertips, and the wards melted away, allowing him entry. Even Albus's magic had never fallen away for him this way. Nor his mother's, when he'd cleaned out the attic.

But Hermione... Scowling at himself, he tucked the articles in her drawer, closed it, opened it again to add the pain potion from his pocket, closed it with finality, and left the chocolates on her desk, lightly warded. The light pink of the sugar rose mocked him, and he spun away before he decided to incinerate it instead.

As he reached the lift, he wondered if his magic would recognise her as well.

* * *

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're a wonderful, wonderful, man, Severus Snape!" He looked down at the screen of his mobile with a twitch of his lips, and measured out the Calamity Lotion for packaging. He'd been keeping that particular message visible for over an hour, and his battery was probably near death, but it was worth it to see Hermione so happy.

Only another half-hour left in her workday – he'd just set the Salt Drops to cure overnight, and he would be in plenty of time to head to the Ministry. Already, they were beading on the sides of the cauldron, and he felt rather smug at his abilities; once again, he was ahead of his brewing schedule, _and_ had completed the gray hair spells' rudimentary layout.

Really, he should stop underestimating his abilities when he drew up the lists.

Feeling rather invincible at the moment, he ducked into the loo to wash his hands. He glanced in the mirror out of habit more than anything, then grimaced at his reflection. Somewhere between batches, his hair had gone from merely oily to looking as if he'd dunked himself into a bucket of grease. Not the look he preferred to present to Hermione's parents.

They'd stopped going over as frequently, as his need for constant classes to refresh his memory lessened. Jean was thrilled that he had proved a quick study, and Hermione could easily learn from _him, _at home, rather than with her mother. He sneered at himself for his possessive behavior; but as much as he did enjoy the atmosphere of the Granger house, and being regarded with respect by parents, he much preferred to remain at home with Hermione.

It wasn't that he disliked the shows on the telly, or the films Anthony selected, or the company, he just preferred his own home, and it made little sense for the Grangers to drive all the way to him when he and Hermione could simply Apparate. Her flat had, admittedly, been much closer.

He liked the Grangers, he did. They were what parents _should _be, and he felt welcomed by them. Anthony kept asking him when they'd get to make him official. It was...touching. Severus sighed deeply, and sneered at the emergency shower he'd insisted George install. He had time, he may as well indulge his curiosity _and_ prepare for dinner.

One of the many things he'd learned from creating his own spells was how to use a rune matrix before attempting them. He sketched the runes in the air for both spells with his wand, tested them. They held, and he smirked. Of course it worked. He'd probably ask Hermione's assistance with adjusting the arithmantic properties of the second spell for Wheezes production, but, still, it worked.

With a flourish, he gestured his wand at himself. Only the grays on his head, excellent. A Finite, another flick, and, yes, he would look fine with grays. He examined his reflection. He looked suitably impressive; he kept the majority of the black. It was...striking. He didn't look too old for Hermione, which, if he was honest with himself, was what had bothered him the most. He didn't mind aging, he minded that once the papers caught wind of the two of them (how they hadn't already, he didn't know), he'd prefer to keep the backlash to a minimum, especially for Hermione, who worked in the Ministry and was easily located.

Canceling the spell and both matrices, he began removing his clothing, hanging his scarf from Hermione securely on the hook. Perhaps it was odd to be so possessive of a single article of clothing, but he wore it daily, and it was the first gift he'd received from her. He'd trade his custom-charmed dragon-hide boots, his cauldrons, and every book he'd ever owned to keep the bloody scarf.

Allowing himself a wry grin at how smitten he had become, he turned the small shower on and stepped under the spray.

_Merlin's toenails! _It was frigid! He scowled, casting a quick wandless Warming Charm on the shower head, and ducked his head into the path of the water. All he wanted was to wash quickly and be done.

* * *

When he arrived at her office, Hermione was bent over her desk, head buried in her arms, and empty vial of pain potion next to her. He rolled his eyes and crossed to her, then tapped on her desk.

"Hi, Severus," came her mumbled response. "I hurt. And Bernard's an arse and I've been pushed back a month."

_It's just a month_, he thought, exasperated. Yes, he knew it was important to her, but it gave her an extra month to prepare. Knowing his witch as he did, Bernard was merely stalling the inevitable – Hermione Granger was going to push through her house-elf rights, whether the old guard liked it or not. Her changes were fair to both wizards and elves, and, frankly, she was well aware of it, as well as his pride in her.

It was not, however, a cause for her to wallow in misery. Trying to catch her attention, he tugged on a loose curl playfully. It bounced back, but she just sighed. He did it again, amused despite himself.

"No."

He tugged again, watching it twine briefly around his finger before it sprung into place once more.

"It's not funny," she said, but he heard the trace of a reluctant smile in her voice. He hesitated, and checked – no one was in the hallway or office that he could discern. Very well, then. He did the only thing he could do, given the circumstance of a mulish Hermione fighting a better mood – he tickled her.

She giggled, squirming in her chair, and sat upright. "Severus!"

Her laughter was vibrant, and he smirked at her, eyes glittering. "You cheated."

He shrugged, shoulder rising and falling gracefully. _We are expected at your parents' this evening,_ he told her. She sighed.

"I know – I was just hoping to have good news about this stupid case."

_You don't think it's stupid, Hermione,_ he reprimanded her. _And you know I do not, either. They will see your way of thinking, and will come around...just a month later than you'd originally intended._

"And if they don't?" She looked up at him, eyes vulnerable.

He rolled his eyes. _Then you will **make** them,_ he said. _You are, after all, Hermione Granger._

She smiled, cheeks pinkening. "Did I thank you yet for the chocolates? And...erm..."

He nodded his head. _There is no need. Do not, however, expect such a magnanimous gesture from me each day, nor even each month_.

Blushing, Hermione rose and accepted his arm. She was beautiful, so beautiful, the way she looked at him, eyes shining with love. She locked the remainder of the chocolates in her desk drawer and grabbed her bag before they headed to the lift.

"By the way, Severus?" He looked down at her, eyebrow raised. "How did you do that? Get your wards on my sweets to melt away when I touched them? That was neat."

He smiled widely, and turned towards the lift doors to hide the rise of blush in his own cheeks.

* * *

See you next chapter! :)


	25. Chapter 25

**Author's Note: If you're on as a guest, don't ask me a question. It means I can't answer you directly. **

**Re: she's a witch, can't she just clean it? I don't think that blood cleans out very well – the spells seem to be basic cleansing charms, and given that such things don't wash out easily, it's likely that she'd rather wash them thoroughly at home...especially if she'd been stuck in court and it'd had time to set in. Ugh. *shudders*  
**

**In any case - enjoy, folks!  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER 25**

"I didn't know you still got the Prophet," Hermione remarked to her father, leaning over his chair to kiss his cheek.

"Hullo, love! You're early tonight – hullo, Scotty!" Severus inclined his head in greeting, attempting to read the paper over Anthony's shoulder. A headline caught his eye, and he plucked it from him with a scowl, ignoring the other man's indignant squawk. "It's just an article, no need for -"

"Severus?" He ignored her and skimmed the article before throwing it to her, and snarled his way over to the other chair, sitting down heavily.

"Don't plop on the furniture!" Jean called from the next room. "Honestly, Hermione!"

"Sorry," she called back to her mother. Severus would have found amusement in her calmly taking the blame if he wasn't so incensed by the pernicious musings of a two-Knut whore who couldn't keep her tits or quill to herself.

Hermione made a rude noise. "Honestly!"

"I thought it was a lovely article," Anthony said soothingly, retrieving his now-rumpled paper. "I don't take what that twit says with more than a pinch of shite, in any case, so don't get your feathers ruffled."

"You know, I'd thought she'd learned her lesson after her stint in the jar."

"Jar?" Anthony asked, curious. Severus raised an eyebrow, attention caught, especially when she flushed with embarrassment.

"I, um...I _may_ have discovered she was, at the time, an unregistered Animagus, which was how she was writing poisonous false stories about me, and...well... I may have trapped her in an Unbreakable jar for a few weeks."

Severus smirked widely.

"Oh, is that all?" Anthony seemed unconcerned. "Only a few? I saw those stories, love, I would have made it a few months."

"Dad!" Hermione admonished through giggles. She kissed each of them, then left to help her mother with setting the table, shaking her head at the two of them.

"Of course, if there _were _any truth to rumors," Anthony said warningly, but Severus snorted and shook his head, Summoning paper and pen.

"She is correct in that I have been seen at her place of work," he wrote, mindful to watch his legibility. "She is also correct that I placed items, including sweets, on her desk, and have escorted her from the building on occasion."

The other man nodded. "And the allegations about the upcoming ball being a 'romantic time for heroic lovers to make things official'...?"

"No. I imagine that was meant more for Longbottom and his paramour than for Hermione and myself. However," Severus discreetly flicked his wand. _Muffliato. _He looked at Anthony before putting pen back to paper. "I do wish to move in that direction, and would like your permission to do so, at my leisure."

Anthony read what he'd written and grinned. "You're a sly bastard, Scotty." He paused, studying him. "There's nothing I could say to threaten you, and I wouldn't want to," he interjected at Severus's scowl. "It's clear that you're both very much smitten with each other, and what losing each other would do to you would be worse than anything I could even hope to do."

Severus inclined his head. _Indeed, to lose her would destroy me, _he admitted in the privacy of his own mind.

"So, you'll ask her, then?" Anthony sounded hopeful.

"By the new year," Severus wrote, then promptly burned the paper once he'd read it. It was only April, after all, and there were several questions that needed answering.

"Bastard," Anthony told him with a grin. "Welcome to the family, Scotty."

* * *

Severus couldn't sleep that night; he'd taken an enormous risk, tipping his hand to Anthony in light of Skeeter's inflammatory article. Really, he should be more upset over it...but he'd visited Hogsmeade and the Ministry with no ill-wishers attempting to hex him or snide remarks... If there was fallout from the bloody article, he'd pay Skeeter a visit. He had enough blackmail set aside on various members of the press, and her file was... extensive.

He sighed and turned towards Hermione. She was asleep, breathing steadily in and out, curled on her side. He'd made sure to give her another pain potion before bed, as she'd been curling in on herself while reading on the couch.

Jean, after dinner, had taken girlish pleasure in taking Hermione upstairs to look at her earrings for the Ministry's ball. Apparently they'd chosen something Hermione was happy with, for she'd been grinning upon her return to the couch. How he'd been roped into agreeing to go to the shops with her that weekend was beyond him...yet, he had.

A soft smile graced his lips, and he traced the waistband of her knickers where her nightgown had ridden up with gentle fingers. _I should pay more attention to her clothes_, he thought to himself, admiring her. He knew she looked lovely in red, peach, blue, spring green...really, anything...

Such plain knickers. She was so incredibly beautiful to him. Would she like silk or satin? Something soft against her skin? He could probably afford imported undergarments, like Lucius had done for Cissy when they were newly married...

_No..._ Severus loved the practicality of her clothing. She was appealing to him regardless of her wardrobe, at least unless she decided to wear a certain odious shade of pink, but he highly doubted she would do so. Thank Merlin for small favors.

Granted...if she wanted to wear extravagant undergarments, he would be amenable to such changes. Nothing mewed, his furred head popping up on the other side of Hermione, and he reached over to scratch between his ears. Appeased, the feline jumped off the bed and went in search of causing trouble – in the mornings, he tended to find that the hall rugs were moved by several feet.

Lifting his hand, he gestured; the sheets rose, covering the two of them once more, and he curled behind her. Severus inhaled, ignoring the way the curls against her neck tickled his nose, and kissed her shoulder.

Hermione made a soft noise of content, pressing back against him.

* * *

"I'm not wearing robes," Hermione'd informed him that Saturday morning with a cheeky grin, when he'd resignedly inquired as to which dressmakers she intended to visit. "They didn't specify what sort of ball it was, or to wear robes..."

With a smug grin, he Apparated with her to an alley near a Muggle shopping center. He'd also intended to circumvent the Ministry by wearing robes similar to those he'd worn as a teacher – decidedly underdressed for their function. The worst they could do was tell him to go home and change. Presumably, any lackey foolish enough to tell _him_ that would know that he wouldn't return.

Hermione seemed fairly comfortable in the shop, comparing the earrings she'd borrowed from Jean to various dresses, slowly adding to the pile on her arm. When a hanger clattered to the ground, he swooped the dresses into his own arms. When she protested, he raised a single insolent eyebrow and she relented, shaking her head.

"I'm glad I'm such an average build," she said. "I can wear almost anything, it's just a matter of fit, really...and Mum's earrings, but it's spring, so it shouldn't be hard to find a good match."

She showed him the posts with their dangling light purple stones, and he nodded, following her to the fitting rooms. Once she'd disappeared into a cubicle with her dresses and undergarments, he sat cautiously in the bowl-shaped chair. Uncomfortable, but then, he supposed it wasn't to encourage people to linger when they should be shopping.

Resisting the urge to drum his fingers impatiently, he surveyed the area. All Muggle shoppers – not the least bit of a threat, unless you counted the adoring glances from the older woman who watched the fitting rooms.

"It's so sweet of you to go shopping with her," the woman interjected suddenly, and his jaw twitched. "Most young men don't wait on their ladies these days."

When he remained silent, she tried again. Merlin, were _all_ women this chatty in dress shops? "Are you shopping for a special event?"

_I cannot speak, _he signed. Flustered, she subsided, and he smirked. _Well, that's one way to shut the nosy biddy up._

The wait was interminable. She'd deemed the first two dresses as a no, with their plunging necklines, and he was inclined to agree. He didn't want reprobate Ministry memo-jockeys ogling her. The third dress was an option, as was the fifth, and the fourth was far too short.

Mercifully, she seemed to hate this sort of shopping as much as he did, and on her modeling of the seventh dress, he'd suggested visiting Flourish and Blotts' afterwards. Her smile was a brilliant reward, and she nearly skipped back to change.

The tenth dress was a clear winner. It was demure enough to not be, in her words, disrespectful to those they'd lost. Indeed, the neck was high, skimming straight across her collarbones, and was past her knees, but still elegant and charming. Her mother's earrings sparkled in her ears as she spun for him, smiling.

_More than acceptable_, he told her, and Hermione smiled happily.

"I've _never_ found a dress this quickly in my life," she confided. "It took Mum and me two weeks my fourth year, and when Aunt Carol got married I looked for three days...You must be a good luck charm."

_I am going to use the washroom_, he signed, and she nodded.

"I'll change back, put away the rejects, and buy this one before I change my mind. At least I don't need shoes."

"Oh, you can give the no's to me, dear," said the woman, who'd been watching them raptly. "I'll take care of it."

"Thank you!" Hermione disappeared back to the room, then popped her head back out. "Severus? Do you want me to meet you by where we came in?"

Nodding, he rose stiffly from the chair, waiting until Hermione'd closed the door to glance at the directory outside the dress shop. He had no intention of using the washroom; he'd wanted to purchase her a gift to accentuate whatever dress she'd chosen – now he knew, he could complete his mission.

Upon reaching the jewelry shop, he grimaced and ducked inside. It looked very...posh, and despite his current finances and success, he still felt like the poor boy he'd grown up as in such places. They seemed too bright and clean to allow him entry.

"Hello!" chirped the young blonde behind a counter of rings. "Can I help you find something specific, or are you just browsing?"

Severus sighed and pulled his pen and paper out. "I cannot speak – I seek a gift for a young woman."

"You can't...oh, one moment - Jimmy!" A sandy-haired man came out of the office. "Do you have a moment to help a customer?"

"Of course!" The man affixed a smile Severus supposed should have been dazzling. "What can I help you with, sir?"

"This is Jimmy," the girl beamed. "He signs."

Well, this was surprising. He tucked the paper and pen away. _Excellent. I seek a gift – we'll be attending a dance, and I'd like to find her something special to wear. _

"Right, then – are you looking for something specific, or a set?"

_She has earrings – I'd like to complement her dress. _

The young man nodded, and asked various questions – the cut of the earrings (_like hell I know)_, the neckline of her dress, the color of the dress and earrings, then pondered the information. "Sounds like a bracelet would be your best option, if she doesn't wear much jewelry. Over here, we have several light ones, nothing too heavy that would distract from the dress."

He placed a velvet box on the counter, and pulled a few bracelets from the case. "You said the earrings are borrowed, so I don't think you'll want to try to match them, unless you're going to later get her some – no? Didn't think so, if she's borrowing earrings, she's not likely to spend on herself..."

_Unless it's books_, Severus told him. The man smiled.

"Just like my sister. So, I'd say either these here," he gestured to a row of delicate silver and gold chains, "or these," and indicated a row of sturdy-looking bangles, "would work for you."

Examining the bangles, Severus shook his head. Too firm – she'd end up never wearing it again. Jimmy put them away, he scrutinized the remaining choices.

Those with gems were discounted and returned to the case, and he was left with several options of gold, silver (_or white gold – looks silver to me)_, and the two intertwined. He knew she'd worn both metals in the past, and the two together seemed too... symbolic, and therefore trite.

The white gold was cold and pale against his skin as he lifted one. The gold, however... it seemed brighter, and he closed his eyes, imagining it against her skin. The warmth of on her skin would look striking.

_This color,_ he told him, and began to peruse the selection, mindful that she was probably waiting for him by now.

_Yes!_ he crowed exultantly in his mind. This one was perfect – it was adjustable for her slim wrists, it was plain but pretty and bright, and at the very end dangled a small heart. It was understated and tasteful, and was perfect.

"Nice one! Good price, too," Jimmy said, waving the blonde over to replace the remaining chains while he rung him out. "'Severus'? That's quite a moniker! Better than 'Jimmy', though, I must say..."

Severus made it from the shop without strangling the man, who'd seemed to chat freely during the process, and had tried far too hard to give him a bag. He'd given succinct thanks before stowing his boxed purchase in his pocket and heading to meet Hermione.

_Merlin, I hope I've chosen right and that she likes it..._


	26. Chapter 26

**Author's Note: Remember the rating of this story? Yeah. This chapter helps with that. **

**Also, I'm REALLY SORRY for the wait. But I think the length speaks for itself, no?**

* * *

**CHAPTER 26**

He was nervous, plain and simple. There was no other word for it as the bathroom door closed with a snick and he was left standing in their bedroom, clad in only the towel around his narrow hips. An empty phial rested on her bedside table next to her current book, and the sight of it made his heart race despite the wank in the shower that he'd been too keyed up to avoid.

Bowlfense's. He'd brewed it himself, and knew its efficiency. Today was her fourth dose, she was fully protected by it, and if the sultry look she'd given him meant anything, she intended to put it to use tonight. She was ready...was he?

Merlin, yes.

Exhaling slowly, he forced himself to Occlude the anticipation away. He needed to get dressed for the insipid ball. A drying charm on his hair, and he finished rubbing down his legs, discarding the towel in the hamper as the shower knob squeaked, followed by the sound of spray – and, yes, an exclamation by Hermione. _I should look at plumbing charms – damn water always comes out cold first._

Nude, he strode to his dresser and removed pants and trouser socks, then bent to retrieve the small box and a cravat from the bottom drawer. He'd spent several hours charming it to be as soft and comforting as the scarf she'd given him – no sense in being needlessly uncomfortable.

Closet next – dress shirt, trousers, vest, and robes joined the pile on the bed. Severus ran a brush through his hair, then began charms. Deodorizing charms, charms to keep loose hairs off his robes – best cast when you weren't already wearing them – charms to cleanse any cat hairs (and keep them off), and charms to prevent wrinkles. Knowing the Ministry, they'd attempt to parade them all around.

Pants, then socks. Then trousers, leaving the bottom buttons undone for the moment. Every action seemed to take longer than normal, every splash of water hitting the tile seemed louder than it should.

Tucking his shirt in, he buttoned the fly and buckled his belt. He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay home with Hermione, perhaps take her to dinner, and just _forget _about the bloody war. His scowl deepened as he reached for the vest. Frankly, he didn't see the need to celebrate it. It was over, and in fifty years, or two hundred, there'd be another one. Better to just teach about the damn war, rather than making a fuss over it and _inviting_ trouble.

With a thump as they hit the doorframe, he Summoned his dress shoes from downstairs, sitting on the bed to begin the arduous process of buttoning the cuffs of his trouser legs. Merlin, they were a bitch to do up. He should have done this before the vest.

Smoothing the vest, he flipped up the collar of his shirt and began to tie the cravat, glad he'd gone with the buttoned and pocketed vest, rather than the frock coat. He was unused to wearing as many layers now, and felt strangely constricted. Still, he looked quite smart, with the crisp lines of the tailored clothes, and he tucked a pocket watch into the vest's pocket.

He shrugged the robes over his shoulders and looked at himself critically in the mirror. It was an awful lot of black – not that he minded, but he could see Hermione in his mind's eye looking at him in surprise. She was used to his inclusion of heavy gray, navy, deep brown, and dark green... With a sigh, he charmed the shirt to a charcoal. Better.

Sort of.

Truth be told, he didn't want to go walking in like a corpse or a funeral attendee. The robes became charcoal, too.

Now he looked like an old movie villain. They went back to black, and the shirt became a crisp white, then back to charcoal. Perhaps some color nearer to his face? He eyed the cravat, exhaling through his nose, and tried a navy, but it was too close to the black.

Grimacing, he looked around the room, aware that the shower had stopped running. The drapes were a sage green, so he shrugged and tried it. _Merlin, I look ill._ Brown, perhaps? He tried a few shades, but they didn't suit, and he felt as if he was running out of time; he fingered the little box thoughtfully.

The initial attempt at replicating the color was too bright, and he looked sallow, so he darkened it to a deep goldenrod. Better. He'd pick up the gold of Hermione's jewelry, and it brightened his face. On impulse, he glamoured his cufflinks gold as well, and modified the threading on the vest.

Subtle, elegant.

Clutching the box, he swept down the stairs to make a quick cup of tea before it was time to go. The floor creaked as she moved from the bathroom to their room, and the bedsprings sagged under her weight. Closing his eyes, he pictured her there, head tilted as she combed out her curls, water droplets glimmering against the skin of her back.

A dresser drawer shut and he wondered what she was putting on – knickers, perhaps a set with lace? He'd seen them and hadn't been able to stop thinking about them since. _I should just join her upstairs, cease this fruitless wondering_ – but the allure of anticipation was too much. _Thank_ _Merlin I took things in hand, so to speak, else this wouldn't be as enjoyable_. Admittedly, he loved the build up to a moment. He'd held onto his Hogwarts letter for four hours before the attraction became too great. He'd waited _days_ to approach Lily in the playground. New books tended to sit for a week while he stroked their bindings, thinking of the words within, until finally he cracked their spines, inhaled that scent of new paper and ink – a mental orgasm of scent and knowledge.

And now he'd waited for what seemed like ages with Hermione, and it sung sweetly in his veins, a siren song of promised completion, and he could think of nothing but her, of this night.

Maybe it was stockings she was putting on. Perhaps tonight he could peel them from her, kiss his way down her legs... Was she wearing a bra with her dress? Or was the dip in the back too low for such a garment? He'd have to place a hand upon her back later, under guise of escorting her, to find out. The knowledge could tantalize him all evening...

The clack of a heel on the stairs made him open his eyes, heart pounding. _Stop it, calm down, you've __seen her in the bloody dress before – Hell, you see her every day, you've seen her naked and aroused and you're all hot and bothered over her look for an event you don't even desire to attend..._

In retrospect, he would be glad he'd already set down his mug of tea, for when they'd return home later that night, it would still be sitting forgotten; if he'd been holding it, it would probably have been shattered all across the floor and found in the morning with bare feet.

"Well, don't you look amazing," Hermione said, smiling at him, eyes shining as she looked him up and down.

_As do you_, he told her. And it was true. She was stunning. The dress was wonderful on her – clearly, she'd had it tailored slightly – and her heels were low and black. Her hair was a loose bun – again, simple in taste, but the curls that escaped trailed down her neck and he wanted to kiss her shoulder and the hollow of her throat.

And she was wearing stockings with her heels.

Jean's earrings dangled in her ears, catching the light like the slight trace of something shiny on her lips. The robe she wore over it all was a dark charcoal; bringing out the lighter tones in her hair, but dark enough to remind herself, she'd told him, that people had lost their lives.

It matched his shirt.

"I love the cravat," and her lips, slightly sticky, pressed against his cheek. This close, he could see the slight trace of cosmetics, and smell her shampoo, her perfume...and his soap on her skin. _Intoxicating._

_I'm glad I meet your approval, _he signed, lips twitching. _I have something for you, Hermione_. His use of her name was deliberate, his hand lingering against his heart a moment too long.

"Oh?"

_Indeed. It is to be, after all, an affair of some opulence, and I could not help but think that perhaps you required something...more_. That being said, he handed her the box. Watching her expression change from curious to perplexed to something that looked like she didn't know how to accept his gift as she read the store's name on the lid.

_Please,_ he added. She opened the box, gasping softly.

"Oh, Severus... it's lovely!" She smiled at him and he couldn't help but slide into her mind briefly to assure himself her words were genuine. "Stop that, you git, I mean it! It's gorgeous, and perfect – help me put it on, love?"

He flushed under her pleasure at his gift, loathe to withdraw. He could maintain the gentle connection to her emotions without eye contact, and lifted the the links of gold from her hand. Fingers fumbled with the delicate clasp, but she held her wrist before him trustingly. He could smell her perfume against her pulse, and purposely brushed his fingers over the soft skin there.

She trembled, and he lifted his eyes to hers, finding them dark, her lips parted slightly. Her mind held a tint of arousal, of trepidation, but was flooded with love. Bracelet securely fasted, he leaned forward and captured her lips with his.

The scent of mint was on her breath, the taste of it on her tongue. Hermione made a soft moan and slid her fingers into his hair; the feel of her nails on his scalp inflamed him and before he could think he had pulled her into his arms, surely rumpling her robes but he couldn't care. She was beautiful dressed for a ball, she was beautiful in the mornings with her hair wild and knotted; she was beautiful regardless of her state, and all he wanted, needed, was to kiss her senseless.

* * *

"Where have you _been_?" Ginevra whispered sharply as Hermione and Severus walked up to take their place behind them.

"Sorry," Hermione whispered back, cheeks still pink. She mouthed a 'thank you' to Harry, who nodded in relief. If the boy _hadn't _messaged her mobile, they would likely still be in the kitchen, or in the bedroom. The spells to tidy themselves had been quick, but Severus doubted the boy had bought her quick lie that they were feeding Nothing (who'd been too busy napping on the sofa to mark their departure with anything more than a twitch of an ear).

She turned her head in response to something Ronald said, and he flinched, surreptitiously flicking his wand to quickly glamour the large love bite he'd left by her ear. _Shite_. He didn't remember doing that, and clearly she hadn't noticed him doing so, either, else she would have checked the mirror.

"Mr. Snape!" Martha formerly-Poppins Weasley beamed at him, one hand on her heavily rounded belly, and he gave her a scathing look. _I swear on my wand, if she attempts to hug me, I'll hex her, pregnant witch or not_. Nonplussed, she waddled forward and her smile widened. "Did I thank you?"

He nodded, sneered, and shrugged her hand off his arm. It was safer to move closer to Longbottom, for Merlin's sake, who flinched before remembering he'd graduated and that they'd actually spent several hours in each other's company without the threat of detention or even a cauldron.

"Sir," Longbottom said with a nod. Severus inclined his head in return, and also to Longbottom's date, Lovegood, who was wearing, for some reason, a necklace of Muggle bolts, and batteries for earrings.

How she'd pierced them without releasing any corrosive fluid was beyond him.

Hell, how she'd managed to survive this long without blowing herself up was beyond him.

"They're making us do an announced entrance," Harry said, coming up behind him. "Because we're 'heroes' – and their dates, apparently. I took the liberty of telling Percy to announce you and 'Mione together."

His lips twitched. _Absolutely no subtlety. _He inclined his head and Harry grinned, patting him on the shoulder despite the warning glare.

"Oh, shove off, Severus. You're happy, and they should see that – isn't that why they've insisted on this?" The grin became wicked, and the green eyes sparkled behind the glasses. "Besides – Percy wanted to introduce people in a certain order; that messed him up, and now he can't decide how to do it, it's fantastic."

Severus smirked widely. Oh, how he approved.

Hermione squealed behind him, hugging Ginevra. He rolled his eyes and Harry looked abashed. "Guess she told her – I take it you already knew?"

Severus nodded. Harry sighed. "You _would_ pick up on it... when? Spell it out, I, um, I've been learning, slowly."

An eyebrow rose at that, but he obliged. _Easter._

"Easter!" Harry seemed inordinately pleased with himself, prompting a sigh. "Sly of you, keeping it quiet – we'd just found out. Hang on- Percy's waving, back in a minute."

That was...unexpected. Touching, almost, that he'd even bothered to take the time to learn to spell.

"It's time!" Harry shouted, and Hermione appeared at his side almost instantly.

_Are you alright?_ He inquired it cautiously, for she was taking the quick short breaths she took when nervous for a case.

She nodded vehemently, curls bobbing. "I hate public events, I hate being a hero."

Lifting her hand – the one with the bracelet – to his mouth, he pressed his lips there gently, lingering over her knuckles, and brushed a finger against the small dangling heart. Hermione smiled softly at him, relaxing in his hold, and he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm.

It didn't matter if they were presented as a couple or not – they'd never hidden their relationship, and he had no misgivings regarding it.

Glasses glinting in the fairy lights, Percy Weasley waved Longbottom over and they all began to queue up for entry.

At least there would be dinner before any pomp and ceremony; the chances that someone would get sloshed and make for an interesting speech were quite high. And he did love entertainment at someone else's expense.

* * *

The murmurs died down quickly after their entrance – they'd been announced after Ronald, but before Harry, obviously. After Percy had declared their names, another Ministry-robed official had seated them - Severus had insisted on pulling Hermione's chair out himself – and as he'd settled his own chair, the whispers started, only to be distracted by the entry of The Boy Who Lived Twice.

Dinner had gone surprisingly well – either the Minister respected them enough to fulfill a request, or the seat planner had knew better than to stick the main tables full of war veterans in the center of the room, for the two tables making up the Order, former students, and the like were pressed against the wall, with very little room to pass behind the chairs once you were seated.

He noticed that Harry had checked over his shoulder periodically, while Ronald seemed either entirely oblivious or had faith in the skills of the Aurors on duty. Severus didn't, but had been pleasantly distracted twofold by Hermione – he had succumbed to the urge to place a hand on her back as he'd seated her, and, no, she wore no bra; _and_ she had the fingers of one hand tracing idle patterns on his thigh.

_Merlin help me, I've become an adolescent all over again, unable to control myself_, he thought, gritting his teeth as she made a pass closer to the inside of his leg. He thanked whoever had seated him next to George, however, rather than Molly. At least he could amuse himself by checking his food and warding his beverage, though his employer gave him a lock of mock-hurt at that. Neither he nor Hermione accepted any alcohol, but then, Ginevra, seated next to his love, had also abstained, for not-quite-yet-obvious-by-looking-at-her reason.

Skeeter had been by with her odious wretch of a photographer – literally, the man had doused himself in a foul cologne – to ask questions and take photos. Inanities ranged from what they were wearing to what they thought of the event thus far. Hermione had replied for Severus, watching his hands, but had refused to translate a particularly scathing comment, much to the table's genuine amusement.

Needless to say, that particular moment had meant that Skeeter'd faltered, smile plastered on her lips, before waltzing off.

"Oh, she's going to say something cruel in the paper tomorrow, just you watch," Hermione murmured. "Yes, there, see? She's actually _leaving_ – she thinks it's all done. Stupid bint. I wonder if she'll sneak back in as a bug."

_If she does, you're welcome to use a wine glass or coffee mug and send her back to the kitchen_, he offered in return. _I understand they have excellent extermination spells available at functions such as these._

Hermione laughed loudly, drawing attention to them, but he only had eyes for her bright eyes and flushed cheeks. George drew her into conversation and she leaned over him. Almost absently, he moved a curl away from her neck, verifying his quick glamour was still in place, and reached over her for his water glass.

People goggled, then seemed to almost...dismiss the absurdity of the whole scenario. Severus frowned. _Why the hell aren't they upset?_ While he hadn't expected a lynching, he _had _expected a little outrage, anger, disbelief... not stares and shrugs.

"I've been writing for the Quibbler," Lovegood announced suddenly. _Merlin's nipples, when did she switch seats with Ginevra?_ "In case you were wondering."

He gave her a dry look. As her professor, he'd long since learned to wait for her to continue, rather than attempt to force her to make sense.

"Why they don't hate you, I mean. Everyone's loved the stories from the people you've helped at the hospital. The Prophet kept rejecting them, so I published them all." She gave him a serene smile, toying with her necklace. "They all seem to think you wouldn't want their thanks for what you did, so they wanted to write stories, change how others saw you. Like the family with the little boy and the pixie bites. They were most grateful. I should get back to Neville, I think he wants to escape Ron's wife."

She rose, pocketing a napkin absently. "A boy and a girl, by the way, in case you were wondering."

He stared at her, nonplussed. They...liked him? Keeping his face impassive, his eyes roamed over the room. All his life, he'd gotten the stares, the sneers, the whispered mockery... It was all..missing. All of the venom after the war, how he'd been treated as if he'd _deserved_ to suffer, to lose his voice; the hate he'd seen every day in everyone for nearly all of his years...it was gone. Missing. Not a trace of it.

And it wasn't because Harry'd shouted his past to the world – Merlin, how that had grated – or because he'd been a spy to atone (and rightfully so) for his mistakes, or because the Ministry had showered him with medals and accolades, or because he was seeing? courting? Hermione Granger... it was because of all the things he had done to help them, without wanting or expecting any bloody thanks. He'd swept in, fixed what needed to be fixed, and left before anyone could utter a thing.

It staggered him, and his hand grasped Hermione's calf. She stuck her tongue out at George one final time and dropped back into her seat.

_Are you alright, love_? Her fingers asked, eyes examining him for the cause of his distress.

_Were you aware of the Quibbler's publication of certain material regarding myself_?

_Yes – I thought you read them, there's a stack at home in the living room... I mean, you read everything else in the house..._

_I haven't_. He kept his gaze to her hands, knowing he looked as wild-eyed as he felt. _Miss Lovegood just informed me, I had no idea..._

_Oh, love... I'm sorry, I should have mentioned it. _He shook his head in denial, but whatever she intended to say next was interrupted by Kingsley's amplified voice announcing that before any dancing commenced, there would be a few short speeches.

Next to him, Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hand, and he slid his hand to her knee soothingly. "And here I thought we'd escape speeches. Just once. But no... and they always expect us to say something."

He stroked his fingers along the bracelet on her wrist and she looked over and smiled just as Kingsley took the podium, already starting to blather on about trials and sacrifice – Severus wondered who'd written the bloody speech for him.

Probably Percy Weasley, judging by the smug look and the way he was mouthing along, nodding slightly. Surreptitiously, Severus elbowed George, catching his attention before jutting his chin slightly towards Percy.

"Oh, hell," George muttered under his breath. "Percy, you pompous git..." He leaned backwards, and waited for Potter to look at him before signaling something behind Severus's back. Potter then leaned over to Ronald... and then all three of the troublemakers sat calmly, trying to keep a neutral expression. Severus's lips twitched briefly, awaiting whatever may ensue.

He wasn't disappointed.

No sooner had the speech begun to loop to a close that Harry's arm twitched just under the tablecloth, and the boy whispered, "Waddiwasi!"

Typical. Still couldn't keep his mouth closed when casting. Nevertheless, the spell was perfectly effective, and a small bead of water that George had been slowly Levitating shot directly into Kingsley's throat, ending his current word with a pained squeak.

George leapt to his feet, pounding him on the back. "You should sit down, mate!" Kingsley gestured at the podium. "Note cards? I think I can take care of it..."

Clearing his throat, George stepped forward, pointing his wand at his throat to activate a Sonorous Charm. "Sorry, folks! Looks like our beloved Minister needs a break, so I guess you're all stuck with me. Thankfully, he's got these handy note cards and, oops, they've caught fire!"

Percy's face was a sight they would all treasure as smoke curled upwards.

"Ah, well, time to wing it... As you know, some of us here tonight were invited, some of us here paid for tickets, and some of us here were strenuously invited." This last caused Hermione to giggle, and George winked at her. "Firstly, to those who bought tickets – thank you! Your funds have gone to Hogwarts, which, as you know, was damaged in the war. Which sucks, because some of us spent a lot of time trying to destroy it, as our former professors know."

Severus snorted, and from the other table, Minerva threw a roll at George, who caught deftly batted it away with the ease of a practised Beater. "But, seriously... I think Harry should come up here and say a few words. Who better, after all?"

Thunderous applause, and Harry flushed, glaring at his soon-to-be brother-in-law before rising and making his own way to the podium. Passing George, Severus clearly heard him threaten to set Ginevra on him. George just laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Ladies and gentlemen – Harry Potter!"

Harry sighed and cast his own Sonorous. "Well, this was unexpected... so I'm going to be a bit unpopular here. Tonight, the Ministry wants us all to celebrate our victory, and we should, I just wish I could spend this night at home with my fiancee, or with my friends, instead of standing here. It's nothing personal – you all look wonderful, the food's been quite nice, and the company's been good."

He grinned. "And I feel sorry for all of you later, because I am a _terrible _dancer." The audience laughed, including Ronald, who toasted Harry with his wine glass.

"In all seriousness, I still don't feel like much of a hero. To me, the real heroes are everyone who made the hard decisions. To those who fled because they didn't know how to fight – thank you. To all of you who came running when called – thank you. To everyone who fought and lost something – thank you." He paused, and took a deep breath. "For those who gave _in_ to the dark to protect what they valued – thank you. To my friends, my classmates, my professors, to everyone who stood beside me, even in spirit, thank you.

This night isn't just about me, or celebrating the downfall of a bad _man_- and in the end, that's all he was – this is about all of us. About the choices we make. If even one person had spoken up sooner, rather than allowed a prejudice or fear to blind them, it all could have been avoided. But if they had, we also wouldn't have the future we have now, the sort of happiness we've found after seeing how dark things became."

The hall was quiet, and Martha could be heard sniffling into her napkin.

Harry took a deep breath. "Light can't exist without dark. It can't. My best friends ran with me – fought next to me. And one of them left after I was angry and stupid. And I missed them so much, and they _found_ me again – I wouldn't be who I was without Ron and Hermione. I lost my family to Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort. But I found a new one with the Weasleys, who can't all be here tonight, but they are my family, in my heart, where it counts.

Some of us sacrificed so much of ourselves, risked our souls, to keep the dark from winning, to keep that light shining. Oddly, the people who kept me safe at the critical moments are all Slytherins, a house that you all still revile. And now you're all going to hate me for this – Slytherins aren't all bad. They're talented guys. And they have bollocks of steel. I mean, Severus here spied. Draco Malfoy -" Harry tipped his head at him "Merlin, I hated him in school, but he stalled when they caught us. And his mother, Mrs. Malfoy, she lied directly to Voldemort – not for me, but to find her son."

Hermione squeezed his hand under the table. "And that's what this, here, tonight, is about. We need to think about the people we care for. How much they mean to us. What this war has done is brought us _together_. And that's how it should stay. Not because I'm the Boy Who Lived Twice – I hate that, by the way, ever try signing a cheque with it?" More laughter "But because I'm just one more Wizard who fought and lost and won. Let's rise, please...and spend a moment in quiet, remembering not only those lost, but what we all have left to fight _for_, to keep the light shining."

Chairs scraped across the floor, and Harry scooted back to his seat. Hermione squeezed his hand tightly, and Severus smiled at her. Together, they sat down, and it happened.

In the quiet of people sitting, a long, loud, flatulent..._fart_... reverberated throughout the ballroom, amplified by none other than George Weasley. Mortified, every head in the room swiveled, mortified, to look at Severus, who rose slightly, plucking the Muggle whoopee cushion from under his arse.

He stared at the bloody thing, then handed it calmly to George. Then he broke – he laughed, long and soundlessly, and Hermione and George and all the rest joined in. The laughter felt wonderful; he laughed so hard he snorted, eyes streaming. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so hard.

George had finally gotten him, and it had been brilliant. Perfectly timed. He hadn't expected a thing. Wonderful. Utterly wonderful.

Finally, George calmed himself to announce. "Just a demonstration of a Muggle whoopee cushion! Now available at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, ladies and gents! But now, how about some music? Oi, Angelina, meet me on the dance floor!"

* * *

Severus sighed as Hermione nuzzled against his chest. It had taken her an hour of pleading before he'd given in to her request to dance with him. Wisely, she hadn't accepted dances from Harry or Ronald...or anyone else. He may be a grown man, but that did not stop him from being as possessive as a child with a new toy... even if he _had_ had her company for too long for it to be new.

Still...the feel of her in his arms, the tickle of her curls under his chin... she fit against him so perfectly, and he drew a hand down her spine. She shivered in reaction, fingers digging convulsively into the back of his vest. Making a small hum of contentedness, she pressed her nose closer and inhaled. Moving with the music, he brushed his lips over the top of her head, and she looked up to smile at him.

"How long until we leave?" she asked quietly, teeth digging into her lower lip.

_Not soon enough_, he thought dryly, but instead shrugged minimally. Hermione wrinkled her nose in response and went back to inhaling his chest. How she could breathe that way was beyond him; she was saved from asphyxiation, however, by the change to a waltz.

She was an excellent dancing partner, as waltzes went. Her smile was bright and becoming as he spun them around the floor, robes flaring. They dipped and swayed to the music, his own return smile genuine.

Everything seemed to melt away; the other dancers, the room, the fact that with her hold on his arm he would have no way to draw his wand as quickly as he preferred. None of it mattered at that moment. Hermione fit perfectly into his arms, and into his life. There was a slight pang of regret not having a ring, but it wasn't the right timing yet. Too soon, and entirely too trite.

"Have I told you you're a great dancer?" she asked softly, eyes meeting his. He tightened his hold on her waist, shaking his head imperceptibly, black strands obscuring them from onlookers. "Well, you are. Better than Neville, even – I danced with him at the Yule Ball. He practised every night leading up to it, did you know?"

He hadn't known, but Hermione kept prattling anyways as he swept them past the head table for another circuit. Waltzing wasn't particularly difficult, as long as you remembered where to put your bloody feet and listened to the rhythm. She didn't require a response, and they both knew it. She was only talking because she was nervous and wanted to leave, and he didn't quite know how to reassure her. Hermione pressed closer, about to say something, eyes dark, when something in the center of the floor attracted her attention.

"Oh, speak of the devil -" she turned in his arms and he steered her to a wall to avoid a collision with another couple. She didn't even notice until he sighed in exasperation. "Sorry, Severus – Neville's just knelt on the dance floor in front of Luna!"

She sounded excited, and he rolled his eyes. Trite. Contrived. Feeding right into Skeeter's jabs. Nonetheless, he stole Hermione away to a wall by the balcony, pressing himself against it even as he pressed her back into him, rubbing his chin on her curls.

"I can't believe he's doing it here," she whispered to him. "Poor Neville. He'd had a huge elaborate plan, you know... he'd planted an entire walkway down at Hogwarts, was going to show her something down at the greenhouses, but some creature of Hagrid's – I'm really afraid to ask what – got lose and destroyed the whole thing."

Severus shuddered to think what monstrosity the half-giant had taken in this time.

"He wanted it to be today, though – it's sort of the day they finally got together. According to Harry, he dashed off in the middle of battle, shouting he had to find her and tell her he was, and I quote, 'mad about her'. Sweet, really." Severus nodded absently. Hermione stroked his arm, breath quickening; with his chin on her head, he could feel her chewing on her lip. "Severus? Do you think if we disappeared they'd notice?"

Knowing she was keyed up, he pressed his lips to her hair and caressed her stomach gently. Her breath caught, and as Lovegood threw her arms around Longbottom, he brushed his hand against the underside of her breasts.

"Take me home, Severus," she whimpered quietly, the words almost drowned in the sea of applause for the young couple.

He smirked, smug at his manipulation of her body, proud he knew her so well. Still, he lingered, teasing her with touches no one else could see. She was nervous; he would fear she had changed her mind if not for the way her nails dug into his arm.

"Severus, please," Hermione whispered, and before she could ask again he led the way to the nearest Floo. She called out their destination and they whirled away in a flash of emerald green, her lips on his in a kiss that scorched him.

They tumbled from the Floo onto the living room rug, and Severus took the brunt of the fall. All of his breath left him noisily, Hermione's weight squarely on his stomach. She giggled breathily as he wheezed, shifting her off of him, and there was a thunk as her elbow hit the low table.

"Ow." Rising and rubbing the offended appendage, she smiled at him. "Need a hand, love?"

Scowling, Severus levered himself to his feet. Examining her elbow for injury despite her protest, he kissed the bump gently. When he raised his eyes to hers, he found her smiling.

_What?_ he asked, frowning.

"Nothing, that was sweet of you, is all," Hermione murmured. _I am not sweet,_ he thought, but thought was gone as she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him down for a kiss.

They both sighed into the kiss, melting against each other. It was warm and comfortable in each other's arms, hands starting to explore, soft breaths... Severus pulled her tightly against him so she could feel the swell of his cock; she moaned sweetly into his mouth.

"I've been...waiting...all...night," she managed between kisses. He nodded fervently, gesturing briefly to activate the spell he'd set this morning; he had long-desired to make this occasion special for her. Sliding his hands under her robe, he slowed his kiss, filling his senses with the taste and scent and feel of her.

Hermione pulled back, wrestling out of her robe, then pulling at his, panting. "Upstairs, love... let's go upstairs."

Severus cupped her arse and kissed her deeply one last time. When he pulled away, her lips were wet and swollen with the pressure of his lips on hers, eyes dark with desire.

"Upstairs," she repeated, and he nodded.

She patted Nothing on her way past the sofa, leaving both of their robes on the floor in a heap. It was a testament to his distraction that he didn't even think to cast a protective charm over them – he was far too busy trying to redirect the blood in his body to his brain, to remember what he'd been studying under charmed titles at lunch every bloody day for the past week.

Hermione reached the top of the stairs before him, and skidded to a stop at the bedroom door. "Oh! Severus! It's beautiful..."

Offering her a hesitant smile, he joined her in the bedroom, admiring his own handiwork – the scattered pink petals and the soft glow of fairy lights. It was trite, yes, overdone...but this was for them, in private, contrived practices be damned.

She gaped a moment longer, then removed her mother's earrings; he toed off his shoes as she began to undo her heels.

_Stop,_ he signed as she reached for the zip of her dress. _I want to do it._

It was her teeth sinking into the pink of her lips when he realised her nerves had resurfaced.

"Shh." Severus shushed her, turning her around and placing soft kisses on the back of her neck. He wanted to savor this. Anticipation was part of the pleasure. He'd undressed her before, yes, admired her body, but this was different.

Her skin was soft under his fingertips, the curve of her spine, the dip of her dress... and then he found the zip, pulling it down slowly, following his path with his lips until he knelt on the ground. He moved his hands back up her back, forcing his mind, his breathing, to calm.

Smoothing his hands back down her arms, the dress fell, a soft sound of fabric against the bedroom floor. Hermione shivered, but he couldn't spare that a thought. Indeed, the stockings he'd fantasized about peeling from her legs were there, and, _yes_, covering those lace knickers that had consumed his thoughts since their discovery.

That alone told him he was right to draw this out – they'd both decided to make it as special as they could.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled, feeling his pulse in his cock. Her scent was..intoxicating. That perfume was there again – he loved its fragrance on her skin, he should gift her a bottle for her birthday – and under that, his soap, her shampoo, and _Merlin, yes, _the very scent of her. Musky, warm, enticing. His mouth watered as she turned and he vowed to attempt that at a later date.

"Severus?"His eyes fluttered open, meeting the uncertainty in hers with all the desire he could show. Her breath caught, and she stroked a hand down the side of his face. "Oh, god, you're beautiful..."

Smiling softly, he leaned his cheek into her had, pressing his lips against her palm. The smile remained on his face, his own fingers lingering on her stockings. _So beautiful_, he thought, and began to pull them down, kissing her legs. They were smooth and shapely, and though he'd woken with them entwined with his, he couldn't help but imagine them wrapped around his waist.

Hermione exhaled shakily, clutching his shoulders as she stepped out of the stockings, then she tugged him up, attempting to release the knot of his cravat. He moved to assist and she switched her goal to the buttons of his vest with a quirk of her lips.

"In good news," she said conversationally, almost masking the tremor in her voice, but he knew her too well. His vest was pushed off his shoulders, followed shortly by the cravat. "I don't think this will hurt much, so you won't have to worry. I may have broke the damn thing riding a dragon."

A startled laugh swelled his chest, interrupting his progress on his shirt. That was his Hermione, blunt and honest and wonderful. Vanishing the shirt instead, not caring if it made it to the wash un-Splinched, he gathered her into his arms and kissed her soundly.

Merlin, how he loved her. She was sweet and pliant in his arms, tasting only faintly now of the mousse from the ball. Severus steered them to the bed, gesturing to move the comforter down. They ended the kiss when her knees bumped the mattress.

_I love you, however often I do not say it, know it to be true_, he told her.

"I know – I love you, too, Severus."

_Nervous?_

"Yes." It was nearly a whisper. "I've been ready for weeks now, and I didn't know how to tell you – I sat reading all the books I own on the subject before realising I should have just told you that I _want _you, Severus."

_She wants me_. His heart quickened, and he kissed her again before peeling off his pants as quickly as he could. Hermione followed suit, his eyes following the lacy knickers down her legs to the floor.

_Beautiful_, he signed, for it was true.

Together, the moved to the bed, mattress creaking comfortably under their combined weight. Knowing he had her permission to touch her, all of her was almost too much. He wanted everything all at once, feeling very much like a greedy child.

"Stop," she said softly. "Don't Occlude, Severus, please... we'll just...let it happen."

He gave her a somewhat sheepish smile. He didn't know where to start, not when _all_ of Hermione lay before him, her breasts looking as silky as when he'd first seen them; not when he could see her kiss-swollen lips; not when her eyes were so dark, so full of wanting _him_... And there was nothing to fear, for if he misstepped, he knew she would say, would trust him to bring her to pleasure.

"Here," and she pulled him down atop her, kissing him. His lips moved over hers of their own volition, cupping her face as though she were fragile. Her tongue darted out and he followed it back, dipping into her mouth, tasting her, the hook of his nose resting gently against her cheek.

He wanted to draw her taste, her essence, her soul, into himself. He wanted to permeate his very core with Hermione. He would emblazon her into his mind, his flesh, his magic, until there was no more loneliness, no more uncertainty – just Hermione.

Vaguely, he heard her whimper and released her lips to taste her neck, skimming to the enticing curve of her shoulder. He licked the hollow there, then soft, sucking kisses. A sharp suck and she made a lovely noise of want, digging her neat nails into his shoulders.

The pain of it was mild; inflamed, Severus moved to her breasts, cupping each in turn, thumbing her nipples. He had nothing to worry over – this was Hermione. They'd shared their bed, their minds, most of their bodies, and he knew how to make her moan, make her pant, make her keen his name into the darkness of the room.

And she knew, too, how to run her fingers over the scarring on his neck to make him exhale at the sudden shiver of sensation. She knew how to flick his flat nipples with her tongue, encouraging him to bury a hand in her curls and push her down to his needy cock. She knew how to shatter his mind, his control...and he loved her for it.

This wasn't about their bodies, he thought distantly as his length brushed her thigh, Hermione writhing under him. This was about their _love_. This wasn't an empty fuck he'd heard other men talking of, rutting to find release, this was love, worshiping each other's mortal shells so their souls could mate.

Slowing, he paid closer to attention to her breasts, trailing his own lank hair over her stomach. She giggled and he smiled, pinching one rosy nipple and laving from her collarbone to the other tempting tip with his tongue. He feasted at her breasts, sucking each in turn, fingers paying attention to the other, twisting them the way he knew she loved.

Arching under him, Hermione squirmed a hand between them to administer to his own nipples. Severus stiffened, and slid a hand down her stomach to her soft curls.

"Yes," she murmured, moving her hips. "Please, Severus..."

This was something he'd chosen to deny himself – oh, he'd slid his fingers past her entrance, and he did so now, coating them with her warmth, to circle and stroke her clit. He loved this. He loved to touch her, and moved back up her body, sliding his arm behind her head.

Every quiver, he wanted to feel, and pressed his cock against her thigh, trapping one of her legs between his, and began to stroke. Severus would wait until she was near coming before finally, finally, breaching her passage with his fingers.

He had longed to feel her around him, to become a part of her, and he fully intended to draw it out. With Hermione in his arms like this, they were free to kiss each other as he stroked her, slowly drawing circles.

Merlin, how he loved to do this. He could feel every twitch, every shift of her hips, taste every panted breath, feel the vibrations of every whimper. Better, with his cock trapped between them, he didn't have to worry about losing his erection as he focused on pleasuring her.

Rocking his hips gently against her, he wet his fingertips a little more. Hermione made a soft plea, and he simply returned to her clit. _I'll touch you there, love, never fear._

He flicked her clit and she jumped, pushing her hips up to him. Pushing his finger against that little pearl, he felt the thump of her pulse. Quick, quick, quick, tripped the beat, and he matched it, rubbing her in those quick little strokes.

Grateful for the length of his arms as she clutched at his shoulder, the bed, he reached just a little farther and plucked at one pointed pink nipple. Hermione whimpered and he buried his face in her neck, alternating between panting and clenching his teeth to control himself.

For all that he was no callow youth, he certainly wanted to bury himself between her thighs. Presumably, his body would know the rhythm to use, and he would lead her into pleasure.

"More... Severus, _please_," her voice was a whine, and he was certain she'd drawn blood on his arm as her nails clamped down.

Ever-obliging, he finally, _finally _slid to her entrance, bringing his thumb to her clit. Closing his eyes, he slipped a finger inside.

They both gasped. She was so _tight_, so wet, and Severus could only think of how she'd feel around his cock, which twitched between them. Sliding in and out, he tried to keep stroking her clit, accommodating her demands for more and adding a second finger.

Hermione was panting, her hold on his arm tighter, her voice calling his name into the room, making delicious noises of want.

"_More! Please!_" Her voice was shrill. "Please, please, please, Severus, in, in, I want you, please..."

Arms trembling, he unwound himself from her. She looked beautiful, flushed and wondrous, her eyes almost as dark as his, a look of almost helpless pleasure on her face. Gone was his urge to send her over the edge.

He could deny her nothing, not when she reached for him, and they guided him into place. Pausing, he looked down at her. She was gorgeous beneath him, and his heart ached with love for her.

Gently, he began to push in. _Oh_, _sweet_ _fuck_. He could his face warming. Slowly, he continued, watching Hermione, fighting the sudden urge to thrust against her. She winced. He paused, but she shook her head. "No, no, it's okay, keep going."

Her whisper was soft and then, finally, he was seated. "Okay...wait..."

So he did, closing his eyes. _Merlin_. It was...incredible. He could feel his balls, pressed against her. He could feel the crinkle of her curls against his belly. The softness of her thighs around his waist, and, _fuck, yes_, the feel of her, warm and wet and _tight_ around his cock. So bloody good. She'd bloody well tell him to move soon, though, for he twitched inside her, and she gasped.

Prying his eyes open, he saw hers were shut too, and she did _something_ that made her tighten briefly around him.

He couldn't help it – he thrust just a tiny bit in response to that, and Hermione's eyes flew open to meet his. "Yes, sorry, god, Severus, you feel incredible...it's okay, I'm okay, sorry..."

_Don't be sorry_, he wanted to tell her, but he needed his arms on the bed – fuck, where was he supposed to put his hands? No, that was awkward, and if he put them there he wouldn't be able to support himself, and he didn't want to _crush_ her.

"Here." Hermione took his hands, lacing her fingers with his, and they rested on either side of her head. "You're not hurting me, love."

Slowly, he withdrew, her body clasping him, and then he slid forward again. _Oh, sweet hell_.

It was heaven, she was heaven... even moving slowly, it felt _amazing_. Better than his own hand, better than her mouth, better than his fantasies.

Hermione lifted her hips urging him on. "Faster, love... I won't break, stop Occluding, Severus..."

Startled, he looked to her. _Was_ he Occluding? He was. Interesting – he certainly hadn't meant to, and forced the shields down.

Oh._ Oh. Oh, oh, oh_. He picked up pace, panting as sensations magnified. Shite. Bloody hell. _Fuck_! He hadn't realised... Pale hips snapped against hers, and she gasped as he shifted slightly. That garnered her a raised eyebrow and he aimed for whatever that had been again and again.

Her hands gripped his more tightly, and he watched as her beautiful, beautiful eyes fell closed, watched the flush spread across her breasts and up her neck... Hermione was panting, whimpering his name, more glorious as she became unguarded and undone beneath him.

She couldn't even manage his name – it was a mixture of "oh" and quick, sharp little gasps, and then – _oh, fuck! - _she arched under him, finally shaping his name, _his_ name, and she chanted it, her body clenching, pulsing around him.

Tight, so, so, so, tight... Severus reveled in her sweet mewls under him. He shifted himself, trying to find the rhythm to suit himself – and, yes, _there_ – she was so sweet, so tight, so warm and clasped tight around his cock...

Her eyes opened again, and he lost control. Pounding into her, punctuated by the slap flesh on flesh, the caress of her silky cunt wrapped around him... he grimaced, trying to hold on, to tip himself over that edge, just a little further...

Chasing his own orgasm, his face fell slack and he wondered how he looked to her, sweaty and pale and naked, _so close, so close, oh, Merlin, Hermione, please let me make it, so close_, but then he reached the edge and threw his head back, ribbons of black hair flying, brushing his back, his shoulders, - _fuck, yes, Hermione, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes-!_ - and he thrust into her, shuddering with each pulse of his cock.

Panting, nearly wheezing with exertion, he fell to his elbows, and she pulled him down to rest atop her, warm and soft and damp with sweat.

"Thank you," she said, then laughed. "God, what a stupid thing to say!"

He smiled, pressing a kiss to her neck.

"But no, really.. that was...beyond expectations, Severus, it was _wonderful_, thank you; I love you so much..." Her lips brushed his scars, and he shivered with the sensation.

Resting only a few moments more, he forced himself up and off of her, inhaling sharply as his over-sensitized flesh left hers. It was with a noisy, contented sigh that he fell beside her and pulled her close. She snuggled beside him, stretching sinuously for a moment, then combed her fingers through the hair on his chest.

A final kiss to her curls was interrupted by a yawn, and she copied him.

"Stop that," Hermione admonished sleepily. Severus shrugged, beyond caring, and gestured limply for the sheets to cover them and the fairy lights to extinguish.

"Mmm, I love you, Severus," came the quiet mumble.

_You know I love you as well_, he thought, holding her tighter briefly in acknowledgment that the sentiment was received and reciprocated. _Sleep, Hermione._

And a moment later, they did.

* * *

Well... hope that all lived up to expectations. :)

Feel free to review, I love hearing your thoughts! :)


	27. Chapter 27

**Author's Note: Severus isn't the type to make love and leave it there; he's the type to throw himself into new sensations. Consider that a warning again about the rating. Also, I love you guys. I hope you know that. :)**

* * *

**CHAPTER 27**

It was a rude thing, to be woken by Nothing's cold, damp nose pressed to his. Merlin's beard, the damn cat must have drank from his dish and scampered upstairs _just_ to express his adoration for him in this manner.

The bloody menace had the audacity to purr at him from his perch in Hermione's curls. She was, thankfully, fast asleep and would not awaken or register his absence. It was likely rude or a gaffe of some sort to depart the bed immediately following intimacy.

Especially if said intimacy had been a woman's first. Well, and his, but the cat was persistent now, urging him to follow.

Gingerly disengaging himself from the bed linens, he followed Nothing down the stairs, feeling slightly uncomfortable that he was wandering about completely starkers. It was his home, yes, but there was still the lingering feeling that he should be covered.

Nothing kept trying to trip him, twining between his pale legs. Damn beast wanted to be fed, and Severus couldn't blame him. It was past midnight, judging by the clock on the stove.

He deposited food into Nothing's dish - a ceramic thing with painted paw prints that Hermione had chosen and he _itched_ to destroy - and stretched languorously.

Merlin, but he needed to pee. A final stretch and he made his way back to the stairs, avoiding the creak of the fifth step. One of these days he'd repair it, but he was used to it, so what did it matter? He paused at the landing, but all he could hear was Nothing crunching his dinner and Hermione's soft, rhythmic breathing.

Grasping his cock, he grimaced - he hadn't expected to be so...sticky afterward. Never mind, then - he'd sit for his business, then wash himself before returning to bed.

He sat with a resigned sigh as the cold porcelain seat touched his arse cheeks. Another sigh, this one of relief, as he voided his bladder; much better. He felt wonderful, though. Relaxed, content... And he sure as hell wouldn't mind engaging in such activities with her further.

A soft smile curved his lips, quickly turning into a wicked smirk, remembering the night she woke him...it seemed that a bit of turnabout was in order.

Cleaning himself, he frowned. How in the devil had her hair ended up _there_ of all places? There was no reason for her hair to between the cheeks of his arse or wrapped around his sac. _Fucking_ _hell..._

Hissing in displeasure as the water from the tap came out cold, he waited for it to warm before soaking the flannel. He didn't want to shrivel from the chill, thank you very much, and wished he'd realised what a mess things would be after – he would have prepared warm damp flannels and had them under stasis... Come to think of it, he should do so now. Severus had plans for his witch this night.

* * *

Sometime after he'd left, Hermione had moved to take over his side of the bed; she was adorable – _damn it, there's that word again_ – in that she was curled up with his pillow, of all things, seemingly content with the world.

Lips curving gently, he took in the sight of _his _witch in _his _bed, with the evidence of _his_ claim on her neck and breasts and between her thighs. No one could say he wasn't a possessive man, but she'd given herself to him freely, and he'd given in return. She owned him, whether she realised her power or not.

The best part was, even if she did realise her pull on him, she was not one to abuse it. She was the perfect witch for him. Now, his task was to find a way to bind her to his side without being dramatic or romantic about the whole ordeal. Romance was a short-lived thing, and he'd rather show her the way she'd invested so much effort showing _him_. It was strange to have adjusted to being...happy. Happy to be with her, to have her to come home to, to cook with her, read in quiet with her, to allow himself to be dragged to the cinema.

Warding the door against further feline intrusion, he set the charmed flannels on his bedside table, looking down at her. He wished, almost, that he'd been the one to instigate this relationship, but at the same time, knowing that it had been her – her choice, her desire – was precious to him. It was nice to be wanted, to know her kisses were for him, that her body was his to explore...and he rather desired to make her scream for him again.

It was heady, intoxicating, knowing that she _wanted_ him, that he was allowed to touch and stroke and kiss her, that she would respond so well to him... the thought alone hardened him, and he brushed his magic over her, cleansing her gently.

But then, thinking of thoughts, he smirked wickedly. He'd been wanting to try it again... settling himself in the bed next to her, wrapping himself around her, he closed his eyes and mentally commanded, _Legilimens._

Her mind was familiar to him by now – he wouldn't require eye contact unless he wanted to actively search her mind. As she was asleep, Hermione's mind was calm, relaxed; Severus exhaled slowly, calling to his memory their earlier activities.

He started with the kisses: the gentle heat that had built in his spine, the press of her lips on his. The pink of arousal was faint in her mind now beyond the relaxation, and he added the feel of skin on skin, the feel of her soft breasts against the wiry hair of his chest. In her sleep she sighed, shifting slightly.

Catching a whiff of her scent, Severus reached deeper now, building the tiny fire he'd started in her. The enjoyment of her breasts under his hands and mouth. The sweet pleasure of her wrapped around his cock. Every pleasurable tingle, every thread of satisfaction – each of these he gathered, slipping them gently into her mind.

A quiet moan escaped her and he opened his eyes. Perfect. He didn't want her to tip over the edge, just..prime her. Hermione was shifting restlessly in her sleep, and he slid a gentle hand over her stomach to her sex. Her legs parted for him with the slightest of nudges, and he thrilled at her unconscious gesture of trust.

Slickness met his questing fingers she sighed at his touch; it was faint, but he rather fancied it was his name in her sleep, bordering on wakefulness now. Determined to wake her with pleasure, Severus slid down her body, settling himself between her thighs.

Merlin how he'd been wanting to try this since tasting her; he wanted to know if it would give her the same enjoyment she gave to him. He'd gladly used his computer to search for technique, as most of the books he owned seemed to be sorely lacking in pleasuring a woman beyond the act and various positions.

She smelled good – slight musk, but predominantly the scent of _her_, of Hermione, the way she smelled after a shower, and before, under perfumes and soaps. The scent that had him burying his nose in her curls, right against her neck, every night before allowing sleep to claim him.

Trailing his fingers over her, he rubbed at her clit gently, wanting her a little closer to waking. She let out the sweetest little sound, humming in her throat, hips lifting just enough to encourage him. Severus exhaled slowly; he loved the anticipation of _her _breath on his cock...and it was clear she appreciated the reverse, judging by the sudden addition of her voice. "Mmm...Severus? What are you – oh! That's lovely..."

Her voice deepened suddenly, going from sleepy to awake as he licked her firmly, taking his time going from entrance to clit. Such a reaction from one little lick? Well, he supposed, a lick that came after he'd aroused her, rather than starting from nothing...but still... He pinned her thighs open with his arms. He had no intention of ending up injured.

Hermione hummed in appreciation as he licked her again, one gentle hand coming to rest on his head, stroking his hair. He licked her almost lazily, gathering the taste of her on his tongue and finding her more and more delicious as he acquired her nectar. His nose was tickled by her pubic hair every time she moved her hips, trying to keep his tongue on her clit.

_Enjoy it_, he thought, wanting to draw it out, to build the fire slowly. In short, he wanted to shatter her.

"Severus," she pleaded as he licked again, a broad swipe of his tongue, languidly lavishing her with his attentions.

"Shh," was the only answer he gave. Lust was a slow burn with her, and he was still somewhat sated from earlier, his urgency gone. Besides, pinning her legs like this, she was spread open to him, lovely and pink, glistening from both her arousal and his saliva...and he could feel every little quiver of her muscles when his tongue passed over her clit.

When she began to make little noises of relaxation, finally giving into his pace, he flicked her clit with his tongue. Oh, yes, definitely a wise idea to hold her thighs, for they jumped. He paused, waiting for her to settle. Then he did it again.

"Don't tease," Hermione murmured, but he smirked widely, digging his long fingers into the fair skin of her thighs and flicked her clit repeatedly, the way he did to her nipples when she made that little gasp he loved so much. "Oh!"

She jumped each time he flicked her, her hands moving to from him head to his shoulders, pushing and pulling him. Each little noise inflamed him – every gasp, every incoherent stutter, the scrape of her nails, the way her legs curled to brace her feet on his back, the little whimpers and the deep groans; they all set his blood to boiling under his skin.

Drawing in a shuddering breath, Hermione moaned, clutching at him fruitlessly. Perhaps it had been unwise of him to lay across the bed himself, for he was suddenly acutely aware of how hard he was, pressing against the mattress. He could feel every throb of his pulse between sheets and belly, and realised he was rocking his own hips against the bed.

Snarling, he wrapped his lips around her clit and began to suckle. She shrieked his name, keening as she wound tighter. Severus could feel her toes curling against him, and had to expend a great deal more effort to hold her down as she bucked.

Fingers dug into his hair, keeping him in place, and he forced himself to breathe through his nose. She tasted amazing, so close to her climax, trembling in his grip. Hermione sobbed helplessly, grinding against his mouth, finally wresting a leg from his control, and it wound around him, holding him close.

Heartbeat pounding in his ears, Severus worked his free hand to join his mouth, slipping two fingers into her channel.

"Oh _god_," Hermione sobbed as those fingers crooked against the spot he'd found earlier that night. She was panting, trying to take great gulps of air, and he slipped back into her mind.

_Oh, fuck –!_

The lust there nearly consumed him, images, memories, of him over her, the way _she _felt with him inside her, how _he _looked in passion, and he rocked harder against the mattress. The wave of love from her almost drowned him, and he renewed his attack on her sweet cunt, desperate for her to come for him.

She moaned and whimpered, chanting his name under her breath as if she didn't realise she was doing it as her fingers pulled on his hair, holding him firmly in place. She was wound so tightly that for a moment he nearly faltered, thinking he would fail in this endeavor, but Hermione began screaming his name, punctuated by quick little breaths.

Her cunt clenched around his fingers so tightly he could barely move them as she began to pulse, wet and slick. Her body clutched at him as he slowed his pace, prolonging her pleasure. When he finally lifted his head and crawled up her body, she was flushed from tits to hair, lips swollen and breasts heaving.

"Severus," she begged, eyes shining and reaching to fit him inside her. She was so tight he nearly came, gritting his teeth as he slid through her arousal and to the hilt. _Holy fuck, oh, shit, yes, Hermione..._

Mewling under him, she wriggled and he exhaled, his eyes falling shut. Sweet Merlin, she felt amazing; still connected to her mind, he was so aware of where her engorged and sensitive clit pressed against his pubic bone, knew just how tightly she clasped him...

Clenching his teeth together, he began to move, pushing into her tightness, angling himself like he had earlier that night. Hermione sighed in pleasure; he could _feel_ it in her, a sweet burn, as hot as her cunt that caressed the length of his cock with every slow thrust.

_So good, so tight..._ He couldn't keep from gasping, resting his elbows beside her head, pressing all of his body against her as he moved. Severus dropped his head, burying his face in the side of her neck, nipping and kissing her skin. _So good, Hermione, oh, sweet Merlin..._

All too quickly he felt her clench again, his thrusts quickening, the bed creaking and groaning. Hermione's fingers dug into his back, her heels against the base of his spine where the fire gathered, his cock and sac tingling with the need to come.

"Severus," Hermione whimpered and his eyes flew open as he lifted his head. _Oh, shite_. Her eyes were glazed, her skin pink, and her nails bit into his skin. He didn't care that his hair was plastered to his face with sweat, but loved the way her curls covered the bed; she looked like a goddess. She arched her back, getting impossibly tighter as she keened wordlessly. The way she cried out for him stirred him and he thrust harder, deeper, lungs burning – he was so close now, so close, he was right behind her, just a little more, he had to get over that edge and...

_Shite, yes, Hermione, yes – oh FUCK!_

His hair flew back as he thrust once, twice, thrice, shuddering as he pulsed inside her. He was thankful he couldn't speak, because he was certain he would have made a very un-manly whimper. Instead, he panted, gasping for air as she pulled him down to her.

Merlin, he was shaking, cock twitching in her slick sex. Hermione kissed his nose, his cheek, his lips, stroking his hair gently until he managed to pry himself off of her and reached for the flannels. When they were both cleansed, flannels tossed towards the door, he fell to the bed next to her and gathered her to him, feeling rather smug.

He'd always been rather thorough.

* * *

By the sound of Nothing yowling, the post was here, and Severus pried his eyes open. _Bloody cat – you'll never catch a post owl, stop trying!_ Merlin, he was worn. He hadn't even known those muscles could ache, and his legs felt like water as he Summoned pants and a robe so that he could make his way to the washroom.

Hermione was singing something he vaguely recognised downstairs, and he could, thankfully, smell bacon. Ablutions completed and hoping there was tea, he made his way to the kitchen. Nothing was, indeed, on the arm of the couch, poised to pounce, frustration in his meows. The tawny owl awaiting payment for the paper, however, ignored the half-kneazle.

Smart bird.

Severus reached for the owl, trading some of the Knuts he kept in the coffee table drawer for the Prophet. The bird departed, and Nothing missed in his lunge. Severus shook his head at the antics, then frowned at the fur-covered robes piled in the living room.

_Bugger. The repelling charm wore off_. No matter – he Banished them both to the laundry to take care of later and made his way to the kitchen, led by the cat. He smiled widely, honestly pleased to watch Hermione making bacon sandwiches in her ratty terry robe, mad curls flying as she sang. When she turned, she shrieked, dropped the spatula, then gave him a blushing smile.

"Severus! I didn't hear you!" He arched an eyebrow and Summoned the spatula, cleansing it and returning it to her. She looked sheepish as she gestured to the table. "I um... I burned the eggs, so it's bacon sandwiches. Go ahead and have a sit, I'll take the tea off stasis."

In 'Hermione', that meant that she had been thoroughly distracted from their nocturnal lovemaking.

Checking that Nothing had been fed – and, indeed, the beast had his own little scraps of bacon – he dropped a kiss atop her head and seated himself at the table. The tea was wonderful, a balm to his dry throat and tired body, despite the deep sleep he'd enjoyed. Her hand lingered on his shoulder as she moved to finish their breakfast, and he unfolded the paper.

_Skeeter and her drivel_, he thought with a snort. Longbottom and Lovegood's engagement had made the small column at the bottom, reported upon by a less-salacious writer for the Prophet, one who'd had the good sense not to stalk off before Weasley and Harry had taken over the speech.

No, Skeeter's article gracing the majority of the front page was a speculation on the love lives of the Trio. From the questioning of the validity of Ronald's elopement, Skeeter went on to speculate on the speed of which Harry and Ginevra were to be wed, citing the lack of alcohol consumed by the Trio and 'their paramours'.

Which led her, of course, to himself and Hermione, dragging up his past, suggesting lewd reasons that she would be with a man like him, citing the lack of a ring on her finger and his own Dark history. Was that the best she could do?

"That bug," Hermione groused, plunking plates at his place and hers. "Wasting print on gossip...Luna and Neville should the focus of the article, not the 'frowdy robes of Ginevra Weasley, fiance of the well-to-do Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived-Twice' or Martha's due date or our relationship. Please tell me you're done with this rag, Severus, I have the urge to incinerate it."

Raising a brow at her, he flipped through the remaining pages – dittany prices had gone up again, and the ball had made a tidy sum for Hogwarts on the finance pages; but he passed her the paper at the smaller columns of actual news and Hermione squealed with joy.

"Firenze's book has made enough to protect the forest of a third herd! That's wonderful! Oh, look, a new Charms book is out, too, and that Transfiguration Mystery series by Fain that I like has another one – we'll have to stop by Flourish and Blott's later, if you don't mind?" Severus shook his head, bemused by her. Hermione finished thumbing through the Prophet, then happily set fire to it with little bluebell flames.

"You know, Severus...I really don't care what she does."

_Nor do I_, he thought, reaching to refill his teacup.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's Note:Short chapter. :)  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER 28**

Severus winced as George clapped him on the back, then hissed in pain.

"Sorry, Snape! Back not healed yet?" Ever since his employer had accidentally discovered the injury last week after the ball upon bumping into him, he had been exploiting it daily."You never did tell me how you got hurt..."

_Despite your wheedling tone, Mister Weasley, I am not about to divulge to you that Hermione is responsible._ Who knew that once things began that she would be such an enthusiastic instigator? And often, not that he had any complaints. Instead of writing anything caustic on the chalkboard, however, he opted instead to flick his wand at George with a quick Glacius. Severus returned to slicing yarrow root into precise oblongs – the recipe he was following called for rounds, but it would gel better if he had more surface of the root by cutting it into oblongs.

Sadly, his employer wasn't deterred by the spell, grinning at him with chattering teeth.

**That is an idea,**Severus suddenly directed the chalk to write as inspiration struck. **For summers – modify a mint or hard candy to provide a chilling effect. Perhaps lemonade-flavoured, for those fond of picnics.**

"Brilliant," George said, lips blue. "Might need to dial down the chill, though." He slapped him on the back again, and Severus' lip curled into a sneer, resisting the urge to retaliate. He already had plans, after all.

**Perhaps one that works slowly, **he suggested. **I can think of several times I've been working over a cauldron and been unable to leave long enough to remove my coat, but would have been able to Summon a small candy. It would be extremely marketable, with various uses.**

"I'll look into the charms for it," George promised. Severus inclined his head, knowing that now he'd be spending his time testing flavor bases for a chilling hard candy. As he reached the door, George turned back to him. "Oh – Harry wanted me to tell you that he needs you for robe fitting next weekend."

**Get out**. Harry'd messaged him about it yesterday, and Ginevra had stolen the boy's mobile two days prior to tell him about it, and to tell Hermione to owl her. Merlin save him from wedding fever and insane brides.

"Heh. Can't rid of me, Snape!" George practically danced out the door, and Severus smirked broadly, the tingle of the spell he'd set activating.

He wondered how long it would take his employer to realise that his hair was now a magnificent shade of puce, and set the yarrow root aside. He was reaching for the agate to begin grinding it into a powder when his mobile vibrated. A quick glance at the screen confirmed that, yes, it was Hermione, so he flipped it open. The yarrow root didn't have trouble with exposure to air, but the agate would. Better now than while brewing. Besides, he wanted to know the outcome of the hearing.

"Severus! I'm so happy!" Merlin save him, she'd even used one of those insipid 'smiles'. "It's gone through for revision – will you come to lunch today? Can you? I'd rather talk in person, I'm so excited!"

"I can come to lunch," he typed. "Provided it is a bit later than our normal meeting so that I may complete this order. Would you like to try that bistro you pointed out last week?"

Her reply came so quickly that he knew she'd been holding her mobile, waiting for him. The thought made his lips curve gently. "Yes, please! A half-hour past the usual, love?"

"Acceptable."

"See you then!"

Severus set aside his mobile and returned to his mortar and pestle. The paste he was making was more of a gel, something George had wanted to try – a sort of glue, better than a Sticking Charm, but less permanent – that students could use for posters and the like in their dorms, or for children to use with crafting. They'd also spent a good deal of time working on the formulas for finger paints that changed color depending on the mood.

Apparently, novelty sold well.

* * *

The food at the bistro was, in a word, subpar. Hermione's enthusiastic company, however, was not.

"I can't believe it went through," she said, grinning despite the limp salad in front of her. "And after all the times Bernard's tried to sabotage me! Turns out, I'll be getting a bit of a promotion."

She looked rather smug, and Severus lifted his mug to his lips, waiting for her to continue.

"He'd been messing with my forms, as well as trying to block me – did you know he has _eleven_ house-elves?" Hermione dug her fork into her meal, the light glinting off her bracelet.

_Quite a few for one of his standing_, Severus signed. She nodded, a wisp of a curl escaping her bun, catching his attention; almost absently, he reached across the table and smoothed it behind her ear.

"Mum's so happy for me, she wants to take us out to dinner this weekend," she ventured.

_Sunday would work; I am unclear how long my presence will be required by Harry._

"Oh. Yes." Enthusiasm no longer colored her tone. "Wedding things – Harry got Ginny her own mobile. She won't stop texting me about dresses – she wants something Muggle that'll hide her bump, and I don't know _why_ she's waited so long to find a bloody dress or ask for help! Muggles don't bloody well always keep dresses in stock!"

_And how would you know?_ he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her, pushing his plate away from him. Damn thing was inedible.

Hermione flushed. "I _am_ a girl, Severus, _and_ I have access to a bloody computer."

He smiled. Severus loved to fluster her.

"In any case – the board will _finally_ be reviewing my proposal for changes for house-elves. It's a _huge_ step forward! I've written Luna about it, she wanted something for the Quibbler, and I really hope that it goes through. I think it's fair for everyone – it gives elves who are happy with their families the right to stay and accept clothes or not, and elves who are unhappy or mistreated the chance to have an avenue to report it and get help. It means working things into the elves' magic bonds but from what I've studied, it'll be unobtrusive and help both parties."

_And payment_?

She shook her head. "None unless the elf desires it, and the wage would be worked out between the two parties, so that no elf is asking more than a family can afford. It will also give free elves a way to attach themselves to a family. After what happened with Winky, that needed to be in place."

Hermione paused. "Poor Winky."

Severus nodded. The elf was finally recovering from her alcoholism, Minerva had said, but still suffered. At least the creature was at Hogwarts and watched by the other elves.

_Hermione_, he signed suddenly, _when this goes through, we are not taking in Winky. Or any other elf. _

Throwing her head back, she laughed. "God, no, Severus."

Eyes gleaming, he signaled to their wait staff, Hermione translating his opine of their meal – albeit edited for politeness despite his glare – and she gave him a lopsided grin.

"You're incorrigible."

He lifted a shoulder in an elegant shrug, scarf brushing against his jaw with the movement. _I simply refuse to pay for inedible food. They have a chance to make it right, else I shall refuse the check in full and get take away from the Leaky._

"Or just stop by Fortescue's," she said impishly. "I know all about your secret sweet tooth."

_I have never made a secret of it,_ he told her. _Merely have not deigned to share the information with all and sundry. By the way, Hermione – next time you change the sheets, let me know first._

"The sheets?" She frowned, mug of tea halfway to her lovely pink lips.

_I charm the pillowcases to avoid discoloration of both them and my pillow_. He gestured to his hair. _It was a rather unpleasant realisation this morning to find the reside on my cheek, rather than wicked away as the charm does. I will show it to you next time you change them, or I do._

"Sorry." She flushed.

_No reason to be, love. I didn't think to mention it before, and I didn't realise you'd changed them, or I would have informed you then._ He reached across the table to grasp her hand and brush his mouth over her knuckles, and she nodded.

It was a problem easily remedied, after all, and it didn't bother him, just was a bit of discomfort. He'd been using the charm since Cissy had shown him in his second year, after all, so he hardly thought of it. There was no way Hermione would have known, and no need for her to feel guilty over it.

The server reappeared with their meals, her salad now bright and fresh, while his own sandwich smelled edible.

"Thank you," Hermione said with a smile, reapplying the privacy charm once he'd left. "Oh – I heard from Neville this morning, too.. his grandmother was up in arms down at the Prophet over the 'tragic example of reporting' of the ball and his engagement to Luna. Skeeter might be out of a job, or at the very least, cut back to the minor gossip pages."

_His grandmother is a terrifying woman_ _when she chooses to be_, Severus observed before picking his sandwich back up. Yes, much better. Edible, but he doubted he'd return here willingly.

"What are you working on that's new? You've got that faraway look that says something new is sitting on the lab table and you want to go test it."

He smirked; she knew him so well.

* * *

Next time: _I don't care what your witch says, I am not wearing that atrocity!_


	29. Chapter 29

**Author's Note: A reminder about the rating. Severus insisted. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 29**

"Hey, Severus – oh, hey; wand down."

Severus lowered the wand he'd drawn instinctively when the door to Number 12, Grimmauld Place had been yanked open before he could knock on the wood. Harry grinned at him maniacally, and he sighed, following the boy into the house. Already he could feel the migraine he knew today would cause, and fingered the vials in his pocket. He'd been unsure if they'd be shopping in the Wizarding or Muggle world, and had worn his frock coat, albeit open over his shirt, scarf wound loosely around his neck to hide the scars from potential gawkers. It had plenty of pocket space, was comfortable..and both coat and scarf were charmed to keep a proper temperature so he was unlikely to overheat.

The paper in his pocket crinkled happily as he moved to step into the house, and he winced at the sound. He pulled his wand once more to silence it.

"No, no, no, nononono! Harry! Stop him! We forgot! Wait, Snape!" Weasley barreled out of a room near the top of the stairs, but it was too late. Severus had closed the door behind him, and a very real-looking apparition of Albus lifted from the ground.

He froze only a moment, but he was already moving as his tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth. Alright – so this was set before the war's end. Why hadn't it activated before? Was the magic failing? Merlin knew he wasn't back often - he'd _hated_ it here even before Reg had gone missing, and the only reason he'd ever returned before being forced into Christmas parties was to wind up that mutt, Black, that he was playing host to him.

Flicking his wand at 'Albus' as it moved down the hall, saying that he'd killed him, Severus rolled his eyes. Moody. Of course. Vindictive little shite had never liked or trusted him, despite the several times his warnings had saved the miserable bastard's hide from another scar.

He dismantled the pseudo-trap with three quick spells, his fingers flying through the runes, and looked up from the pile of dust at his feet to find Weasley (Ronald), Weasley (George), Weasley (Bill), Weasley (Arthur), and Harry looking up at him in shock.

"Bloody hell," Ronald, the Weasley who'd sounded the alarm in the first place, muttered. "Remind me never to piss you off."

"Oh, he's not so bad," George said with a grin. Severus quirked an eyebrow at him; his employer's hair was still tinged purple.

"Nicely done!" Arthur toasted him with a sloshing mug of tea. "Nice to know that won't be bothering anyone again, quite annoying, really..." He wandered back into the sitting room.

"That was..." Bill looked impressed. "What were you doing with your hand? I've never seen it before."

_My hands? _

"It looked like signing," Harry supplied to Bill helpfully. "You know, talking with your hands. I don't know what he was signing, though, I'm still learning and a bit slow."

Severus knelt to prod at the dust as if inspecting it to buy time, discomfited. _What was I signing? I don't recall signing... Alright, think, then. Spelling out a spell would take too long, and I know damn well that I'd notice if my arm was flailing about trying to sign an entire word. So that leaves the runes._ That struck him. Signing a rune or series of runes?

He flicked his wand again, this time purposefully signing the runes for Evanesco. The dust Vanished with a pop, more powerful than it had been in years. _Well, then_.

Smirking widely, he rose, and caught Harry's attention. _R-u-n-e-s_, he spelled slowly.

"The runes?" He nodded, and Harry grinned. Honestly, the boy was so like his mother when he did that that it almost hurt. Lily had always loved to learn something new, her face lighting up. He gave a mental sigh – he hated this house. It made him maudlin.

"I didn't know spells had runes," Harry added. Severus shot Bill a plaintive look. _Merlin save me, I don't want to explain things to this dunderhead; how were six years of magical education wasted upon the 'chosen one'?_

Bill sighed. "Harry... have you never seen the layout for a spell in your book?"

"Well, yeah."

Bill waited, but that was all Harry had, apparently, and he pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan, earring swinging. "There are runes that correlate to spells – the runes are quick and short. Most common spells use only one or two. The more runes, the more complicated or powerful the spell. What Snape just did... that was extremely powerful magic. _He's using the runes themselves to cast._ I've never seen anything like it, and wouldn't want to end up on the wrong end of it."

"Wow." Harry gave him a lopsided grin, then checked a battered pocket watch. "Well, that's why you're the most powerful wizard alive, isn't it? So, I, ah, got the time mixed up, and our appointment is in ten minutes – I'll go get Arthur, back in a minute!"

Severus tucked his wand back into his sleeve.

"Seriously, mate," Bill muttered to him. "I've never seen someone tap the runes. They're usually only used for spell layout or creation, or in arithmancy."

_Makes sense._ He'd studied the runes extensively as a teen, creating spells and trying to find out which did what. Ancient Runes had been his second-favorite class.

"Right then!" Harry bounded back into the room, clapping Ron on the shoulder. "We've got robes to look at – I'm going to be a married man soon!"

Bill looked pained and as he passed him, Severus tucked a vial of Headache Relief into his hand. The redhead gave him a rueful grin. "You're just lucky Mum's not too involved."

The very notion was painful, and he followed the gaggle of wedding-minded fools back out the door.

_Indeed_.

"..Sorry about that, by the way," Bill muttered. "Harry'd mentioned that Moody'd set a trap and I was fiddling with it, trying to see how it worked. The man was ingenious with some of his traps, and I wanted...well, I didn't _mean_ to reset it, and now you've dusted it for good."

Severus sighed and made a mental note to have Hermione owl the man the book Moody had likely used.

* * *

How they'd gotten the shop to themselves was beyond him – possibly the fame of the persons involved, or the promise of the Potter coin – but as he was quite pleased that he wouldn't have to tolerate gawking from casual shoppers, he didn't truly give a rat's arse. Severus was still unused to spending time openly in the wizarding world, and he kept his back to the wall in the shop, near some particularly dowdy-looking robes.

Really, he didn't even know why he was here as Harry was measured by the floating tape and Ronald hopped up on the stool next to him, grinning excitedly. He certainly wasn't needed. He was just fulfilling a role for Harry, as requested. No fancy robes necessary; he could easily ask Cissy if he could borrow some of Lucius's old things, and then she'd handle everything herself and he'd end up with perfectly-tailored and appropriate robes from somewhere in Italy that had probably been hand-dyed in the tears of monks or something as equally ludicrous.

"I'm getting a new brother!" Ronald cheered to Harry's grin. "And I'm going to be a dad! Bloody fantastic, Harry!"

"You say that now," Arthur chided. "Wait until your son arrives and you're up all night feeding and changing."

Ronald made a dismissive motion, then traded places with George. "Wasn't Perce supposed to be here?"

"That prat?" George snorted. "No, he had to go polish someone's boots with his tongue."

"George," Arthur said warningly, though his lips were twitching. "Think of it this way – he won't get any say in his robes."

"_Yes_," Ronald and George hissed together, looking dreamy-eyed at the thought. Severus was suddenly very glad indeed he had acceded to attend this farce of an outing.

Bill switched spots with Harry. "If you stick me in anything ruffled, Harry, I'll lock you in a pyramid."

Harry laughed, then smiled at Severus, who inclined his head in acknowledgment. "You're after Arthur, Severus."

_Merlin save me._

George was measured quickly – _He spends so much time on garish robes, they probably have him on file_, Severus thought uncharitably, despite the honesty of the sentiment. Arthur nearly toppled off the little stool, and Severus wondered if there'd been more than tea in the man's mug. _Should have brought Sober-Up with me...I wonder if I can pop home to retrieve a few before – damn._

"Your turn, Snape." Forcing himself away from the meager protection of the wall, Severus stood on the stool Bill vacated, glowering and arms crossed over his chest.

"Severus," Harry said in a wheedling tone. He glared at the boy. _Such ploys did not work with me as a student; they will not work on me at this stage in your miserable little lifespan._

"Look," Harry drew closer and spoke in a low voice. "I know you don't like being poked and prodded, and I promise I'll try to keep a reign on Gin, even though apparently she's been planning this since she could talk."

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"And, yes, alright, Hermione would kill me, and I _really _don't want to risk her wrath." That earned a smirk, and he allowed the damn tape to measure him, though it was nearly hexed when the seamstress went for the inseam herself, accidentally 'groping' him.

_Merlin's beard! You have me on file; I doubt that I've changed in height since I taught, you cantankerous old biddy!_ Malkin just smiled at him, and he narrowed his eyes dangerously. _Lecherous witch! You've been trying to manhandle me for twenty years now, you're lucky I don't bloody hex you.. or tell Hermione_. The mental image of his witch, eyes blazing and hair wild at the injustice done to his person made him smirk wickedly. Malkin, wisely, backed away.

"Okay!" Arthur rubbed his hands together. "Molly and Ginny stopped by last week, pulled a few designs they thought would work well... Molly's not too clear on the wedding colors, though, Harry, seems they bickered about it a bit..."

"Ginny's changed her mind three times," Harry said. "Last I heard, it was watermelon and mint. I could ask her, but she's with Hermione at the moment..."

Severus pulled out his mobile as Harry drew his wand, signaling for the other man to stop.

"Oh, right – Muggle dress shop."

"What's that you have there? A fellytone, is it? Brilliant, just brilliant." Merlin's kneecaps, how did Arthur cross the room so quickly? And, yes – the brandy on his breath nearly singed his nose hairs. "Can I see?"

Severus deftly kept the phone out of reach, and George swiftly intervened.

"C'mere, Dad! Harry's got a mobile you can see, his even takes Muggle photos!"

"Hermione; will you please ask Ginevra what the colors she's chosen are? Harry is uncertain and -" Severus pondered how to finish it without making it sound like the boy was marrying a hormonal harpy (he was, but that was only because Severus had been dealing with the girl's mother far too long). "- and wishes to provide his bride with the perfect wedding she's always imagined."

"Aren't you sweet," came the reply a moment later. "I'll ask her, love."

He waited as Malkin showed Harry some of the color swatches Ginevra and Molly had pulled on their visit. When the mobile went off, he sighed. Of course.

Handing the phone to Harry, the boy announced, "Cream and robin's egg blue – oh, she's even got the color codes for us, and, oh..." The boy blushed and handed the mobile back to Severus, looking anywhere but at the other man. "I think the rest of that is for you."

Severus felt his own cheeks warm as he glanced at the screen. _Damn woman! You know I'm being fitted as well, you lascivious little minx_. It did help take his mind off the notion of pastels, however. And if she was resorting to sending him risque messages, she was probably at the end of her rope as well.

He typed a hasty response and stowed his mobile, well aware of the pink he could see spreading across his cheekbones in the mirror. George smirked widely at him, and Severus narrowed his eyes in challenge. _I will end you, Weasley, if you try to hold this over me; they will never trace the poison and all the curse breakers employed by Gringotts will be unsuccessful in their attempts to uncover the means of your demise._

The frosty look must have gotten his thoughts across because George looked rather chagrined. _Wise._

Severus glanced at the floating ledger with their measurements. _I've gained?_ He peered again. Yes, definitely an increase in inches around his middle from when he'd last bought teaching robes. _Bloody hell._ But...his frock coat still fit... granted, it was a bit tighter, but then, he rarely buttoned it up anymore... his jumpers fit fine. But then, yarn stretched, didn't it? Wasn't that why Molly always knitted jumpers her brood could grow into?

He was a bit aghast at the thought that he'd gained. _I'm not a bloody woman, why am I so concerned_? If he'd gained, it was just that he was eating properly, now. He still got plenty of exercise, striding around St. Mungo's and London, as well as the walking to and from the park each day to Apparate. No more stress in his life – proper meals, now that he ate with Hermione for lunches, and he actually cooked at home, rather than picking at his plate at Hogwarts. Again, because of Hermione – he loved to see her face when he prepared a meal.

Nothing to be concerned about. He certainly wasn't pudgy, and he would never be pudgy – the years of huge meals at Hogwarts as a child had proven that, at least. He'd always gone home each summer whippet-thin. But then, that could have been the stress of returning to Spinner's End.

"Here we are!" Malkin sang out, emerging from the back room, various robes trailing after her. "This is the first option -"

_Oh, Merlin's wrinkly balls_. It was horrid. Thankfully, Harry immediately wrinkled his nose.

"Er – no. Sorry." The old-looking (even by Wizarding standards) design flew back into the back room.

"That's alright, her mother chose that one, and she didn't like it as much as...this one!"

Severus choked on his spit. George fell over laughing.

"Mum's lost it," he told Arthur between gasps for air. "Or she's trying to wind Ginny up!"

"It's awful!" Bill was dismayed at the very ornamental robe floating lazily in the shop. There was so much gold braid that it was likely a small army had sacrificed their dress uniforms for it. "She didn't do anything nearly as bad as that for Fleur and me..."

"I think that's a no," Harry told Madam Malkin apologetically. "And if the other robes Molly chose are similar, we'd best dismiss them. I'd like to see what Gin picked, it's her day and all..."

With a sniff, the gold-braided robe and three others zoomed away. _Thank Merlin_. They all looked relieved, except Arthur – but then, it was entirely possible that he was merely enjoying taking photos with Harry's mobile too much to truly care.

"Well, Mr. Potter, your fiancee _adored_ this one. Said it was her absolute _favorite_!" The woman was entirely too cheerful as she whisked the cover off the robe.

_I don't care what your witch says, I am not wearing that atrocity! _Ruffles. Laced cuffs. Little bows on covering the buttons down the front. They were all silent. Gold trimmed the cuffs, and the ruffles cascaded from the neck to mid-chest, where the bows took over. Malkin charmed it to the blue Ginevra desired, adding in the cream, and he had to forcibly stop himself from conjuring Fiendfyre to destroy it. It was a monstrosity, and he'd sooner begin removing his various body parts with a rusted spoon than allow that..._thing_ to touch him.

"Um." Harry sort of stared at, then looked at Arthur, bewildered. "May I have my mobile, please?"

Quickly, he dialed and waited. Waited. "Hey, 'Mione – can I talk to Gin, please?" Another moment of quiet. "Gin? Sorry, I know you're in a changing room, just... whatever I did, I'm sorry. Next time, can you just hex me instead of this?"

Severus uncapped a vial of Headache Relief and downed it. "No, I don't like them, I'm sorry. They're worse than the dress robes your mum sent Ron in fourth year."

Silence, and Harry's head drooped.

"Of course I love you and want our wedding to be special...yes, I know..._Yes, I know._..." Exasperation colored his tone. "Gin. Gin. Ginny. _GINNY_. Shut up, and listen – I will pick our robes, how's that? Less stress on you, love?... I'll keep them in our colors, don't worry...Ginny... please. They're awful. I love you, and I hate these robes. I would still marry you in them if you want, but I won't make your family and Snape wear the damn things."

_Thank Merlin for small mercies._

Harry's expression hardened. "Gin, give the phone to 'Mione now... Yes, I love you, too. Give the phone to 'Mione."

He waited, and they clearly heard tears on the other end. "'Mione? Sorry – Gin's going to be a bit emotional today, yes! Sorry, sorry, I swear, it was worth it, just calm her down – don't swear at me! Merlin's knees! I can't deal with both of you – no, sorry... Yes..."

Malkin wandered off to the back of the shop, clearly disappointed. Severus pulled pen and paper, hastily jotting down a note, which he passed to George.

George sighed. "Brilliant. Oi! Be right back!"

"I don't care," continued Harry, baffled. "She can get whatever dress she wants, 'Mione. The cost doesn't matter to me, Ginny does. She could wear a potato sack and I'd marry her. If she wants the most expensive dress in the shop, I don't care, it's okay. Calm her down, whatever you need to do..."

The conversation continued for a while while Arthur and Bill chatted, and Harry went back to talking to his fiancee, then Hermione again, and Severus stood there scowling at Malkin, who batted her eyes at him. He shuddered.

"See you tonight, Gin. Bye!" Harry snapped his mobile shut and ran a hand through his messy hair. "Merlin's toenails, I thought she'd never shut up."

"Oi! That's my sister," Ron said, grinning. He'd been surprisingly quiet. "You'd better be ready with something tonight, mate, or we'll be pulling bats out of your nose for a month."

"I know," he said glumly.

The doorbell jingled, signaling George's return.

"You really are the oddest man, Severus. I get you to make an Unbreakable Vow and you decide that your recompense is fashion advice?"

He smirked at Cissy, greeting her with an incline of his head.

"Surprised that was so easy," George told them cheerfully. "Just hand the lady a note, and she comes right along into the Floo. Hopefully this'll be worth it, Snape."

_Indeed._

"Let's get started then, shall we?" Cissy breezed past George, brushed her lips over Severus's cheek, and continued over to Harry. "Stand up, Potter, let me take a look at you - this won't take too long if you cooperate."

* * *

Severus quickly washed his face, uncaring that the tap was cold, that he was washing bile off his cheek, or that he'd stormed in here despite being seen by no less than eleven people and hadn't checked the room for anyone first. He shuddered, washing his face again for good measure.

How answering an emergency call to St. Mungo's in the midst of robe-fittings was worse than the robe-fitting itself was beyond him, but such was his life. Even escaping one horrendous thing led him straight into another.

Worse, he'd been spotted entering the hospital by three reporters, who'd probably come up with _something_ sensational about Severus Snape's trip to St. Mungo's, never mind that he ended up here at least three times a week, and was one day away from ending up their payroll as a salaried consultant, rather than an on-call basis.

It was odd, how quickly he'd slipped back into the coldness of Occlumency when he was called in. Worse was the oddness when he'd finished his work – it'd fled him and for a brief moment he cursed his life for forcing him to drop most of his shields. He doubted his strongest shields would ever fall, but the need to communicate through gestures and facial expression had clearly softened his shields, and the wonderful warmth and safety of Hermione's love had done the rest. Knowing he had someone so firmly on his side was reassuring...or had been, until now.

Whoever had decided to actually set _bail_ on the duo who'd been dosing Muggle relatives should be Avada'd. One of the bastards had paid his bail a few weeks after Easter and skipped town without so much as a tracking spell set on him and was clearly up to the old tricks already, if the poor girl in the trauma ward was any indication. Were all people who played with Potions such morons? Severus had tried so hard to instill into his students the safety necessary in brewing and using Potions, as well as handling their ingredients. The bastard had dosed a child this time, the sister of a Muggle-born Hufflepuff, judging by the wailing coming from the family room, but he'd overdone the dose of a particularly nasty brew infused with Dark magic.

Instead of just acting odd, the child had somehow managed to wander off into traffic, then pick herself up and continue away. She was lucky that her brother was of age to Apparate, and had been taken here rather than the Muggle hospital.

Severus rinsed his mouth and spat, hands shaking. The problem for him was twofold – the girl had curled brown hair and for a wild moment she'd looked terribly like a very young Hermione, and then the sheet had raised so he could see the injuries, assess what potions and doses would be needed, as well as lifting the Dark magic for the Aurors to use as evidence.

It'd been far too reminiscent of the Death Eater raids he'd seen, and his heart had stopped, his mind icing over. He'd been clinical, he was sure, as he'd gone through the motions of caring, but he'd gotten through it. The girl would live...and he'd fled the room as soon as he was unnecessary to run in here and vomit up the meager lunch he'd had.

Angry at himself for such weakness, he rinsed and spat again. Was this who he was now? On good terms with Potter's spawn? Cavorting with Weasleys?

Forcing his thoughts to clarity, he took a calming breath. _Yes. _And he was happier for it. He had a family, of sorts, in Hermione and her parents. He had people who accepted his company, even if he didn't rightly call them 'friends'. He still had Draco and Cissy, who'd been his only real friends in the past.

_Hermione. _He pictured her in his mind, reminding himself that she loved him, that she was unharmed and safe in a Muggle dress shop with a hormonal Ginevra Potter-to-be. He called up his memories; her hair, her eyes, her lopsided smile, her hand in his as she read on the sofa, her perfume. She was safe, and she loved him.

He should probably return to the damn fitting.

One last critical look at his haggard face, a few spells to mask the worst of it, and he swept from the lavatory as if he hadn't a care in the world.

* * *

_I'm exhausted_, Severus told Hermione upon her return home, his fingers almost too tired to sign.

"Tell me about it." She dropped her purse on the small table, kicking her shoes off, uncaring if they were all askew on the closet floor, rather than set on the shoe rack properly. "Ginny dragged me to five dress shops, then the bloody salon."

_What the devil did you do to your hair?! _Severus was sure that his surprise and loathing showed on his face, his hands frozen in shock. Nothing hissed and fled the room.

"I know, it's horrible," Hermione moaned, dropping the hat atop her purse. "All I wanted was a trim, but no, they _straightened _it! It'll wash out, but have you ever tried washing hair spray out of my hair? It's awful! They kept adding more when it tried to frizz from the heat of the salon. The only way to fix this will be a shower..or a bath."

She came closer, and he lifted one of the strands cautiously. His love looked miserable over something as daft as hair. Dropping the hair he held, Severus pulled her into his embrace, pressing his lips to the crown of her head.

He most emphatically did not like her hair straight. He loved its wild curls and waves, the way it bounced, the scent of her shampoo, the way it tickled his chin at night, the way it curled wildly after they made love... well, that was an option.

Eyes darkening, he pulled back, tilting her chin up to regard him, and kissed her softly. Hermione sighed, making a soft little sound of pleasure as she melted into him. Her trust and surrender warmed his heart, his exhaustion falling away in the wake of arousal. He wasn't sure if it was, for the lack of a better term, _normal_ for a woman to instigate bedroom relations as often as Hermione, or if it was her own swotty and passionate nature that drove her. No matter how late it was, she seemed compelled to explore him, touch him, until she knew his body well enough to inflame him with a few caresses.

They fit well together, and though some mornings he ended up feeling rather decrepit, he was still so very, very willing. Mayhap once she'd 'perfected' everything they would stop wearing each other out, but he doubted it.

A smirk curved his lips as he met her eyes, and she grinned at him breathlessly. "Oh, yes, please, Severus!"

Maybe she just liked being wanted, too, he mused, following her shapely bum up the stairs. He knew that aside from her brief assignation with the Bulgarian, the stint with Weasley, and the ill-fated date with another boy in her house that he'd had the misfortune to see, she'd been mostly unnoticed by her peers in favor of "prettier" girls.

But she was the most incredible creature on this earth to him. He loved how she made him feel, her shy hesitancy when first disrobing almost gone in favor of comfort in his presence, the way her eyes sparkled when she was feeling mischievous, the awed look for want in her eyes when she saw his naked body; everything about her made him love her more.

Their clothes disappeared quickly, mouths pressing together, hands groping and exploring as all of the day's stress and troubles fell away. Merlin, she was wet, slick and tight to his fingers, and a few strokes of her warm, small hand on his needy cock made him pant against her neck. He hated seeing her hair so straight, without the life and bounce of her curls, and made quick work with his fingers, curling them inside her and thumbing her clit until her body heated and her eyes unfocused.

Watching her come undone made him feel like a god, every time, and when she came back to herself, sweat gathering at her brow, he smirked and licked his fingers wickedly, tasting her on his flesh.

"Oh," she murmured, transfixed.

_I want to try something,_ he signed, lying down on their bed and guiding her atop him. Hermione bit her lip as he held her hips, steadying her as she guided his cock into place.

_Oh, fuck_. He held his breath; she was so tight and slick after her orgasm, and watching her slowly sink down was a perfect torture. She whimpered as he filled her, looking down at him with her cheeks a rosy pink, lips parted and plump.

"Severus," she managed when she was situated. "I – oh, God, this is lovely, you feel..."

_I know_, he thought desperately, deliberately holding himself harder inside of her, his hands slowly skimming from hips to her lovely breasts with their little pointed nipples. If she didn't move soon, he'd die. He was so entranced by how her pretty little cunt gripped him that he didn't care that, yes, his stomach had a slight little pudge to it now, barely rounded under his dark hair.

Reluctantly releasing her and ignoring the fact that he was caring too much about his appearance these days, he signed to her desperately; _Move. Please, Hermione, love, move, please –_ he was begging and didn't care as she braced herself on the pillows on either side of his head, slowly learning how to move on him this way.

Once she found the right rhythm, driving him into her at an angle that struck her inside, the head of his cock being rubbed just so, she sobbed, and he clenched his teeth. _Sweet fuck_! It was so good, so pure, so sweet, and he gripped her hips so firmly he worried he'd bruise her, but she kept moving with him as he guided her. Her hands moved to their headboard, the light in the room catching her bracelet as the scent of sex filled the air, musky and warm.

Severus panted under her, feeling the warmth of his impending orgasm flood him. Hermione was gorgeous, her head tossed back, sweaty and moaning his name, whimpering and begging for him to keep going. _So tight, so sweet, so hot, my love-!_ He was so close, so ready to come, he just needed her to tip them over...

Hermione made a strangled noise of pleasure, flushed pink, and then she was pulsing, crying out, and he thankfully followed her into bliss, his cock twitching with every spurt. She fell forward, and he caught her, uncaring that they were still joined, sweaty and sticky.

He held her as she gasped for air against his throat, her breath on his scars sending little tremors of after-pleasure through him. He could feel her heart pounding, and stroked his hands down her back soothingly.

Long moments passed before Hermione carefully levered herself up and off of him, his cock sliding wetly from her. She kissed his chest and he smirked at her.

_And that, Hermione,_ he signed smugly, _is how you fix your hair_.

She leaned over to see herself in the mirror to discover that the sweat had indeed undone the salon's work and her hair was a wild, frizzy mess.

Laughing, she kissed him soundly, her giggles trapped between them. "You impossible man. Never change."

_Never,_ he promised her in the quiet of his mind as he returned her kiss. When they parted, she sighed.

"I still need to wash my hair before we see Mum and Dad tomorrow." He shrugged. He would as well, but Hermione seemed undeterred by his quiet and merely snuggled into his arms as he waved a mild cleansing charm over the both of them, her curls tickling his nose as they should.

* * *

"Nonsense, you're a perfectly healthy weight," Jean said. _Damn it._ He'd forgotten that she could see his hands from this angle as he'd shared that bit of the robe-fitting with Hermione. "You were far too thin the first time I saw you. Maybe that's the mother in me talking but oh, well."

"Get used to it, Severus," Anthony told him, passing the bread basket to Hermione, who smiled and accepted it. They'd spent the car ride over discussing her house-elf triumph, and she was positively glowing with happiness.

"Anthony, really, not _across _the table, it's bad manners." Jean looked at her husband with exasperation. Apparently this was an old argument. Hermione just grinned and handed the basket to Severus. He debated a moment before giving in. So he was a healthier weight now, not malnourished. Did he really want to go back to looking like a starving orphan?

Not really.

"How was the fitting?" Anthony asked Severus, who gave him a dark look.

"Awful," Hermione mumbled. "Ginny's so hormonal I wanted to pitch her out the window or turn her into a bloody - sorry, Mum - dressmaker's dummy. It took five shops for her to find 'the dress'. I never want to go through something so awful – I think that if and when I ever get married I'll save everyone the trouble and expense and elope."

Thankfully, both women missed how Anthony's eyes darted to Severus's with a shake of his head. It was a very fatherly shake that said 'Don't you dare, I want to give my baby girl away in a white dress.' Severus snorted and ripped his bread in half, dragging it through the olive oil and Parmesan on the little plate.

When Hermione looked at him questioningly, he clarified the reasoning behind it, glad he could chew and 'speak' at the same time. _It may seem like a great deal of trouble now,_ he told her as Jean translated quietly for Anthony, _but you would regret it if you didn't do things how you'd want them. Unlike Ginevra, you are infinitely more practical and things would be very simple indeed._

Delighted, she smiled at him. "You know, I think you're right."

"So tell me about this Narcissa person," Anthony interjected, mixing pepper into his own oil.

"Oh – she's Mrs. Malfoy, Draco's mother and Severus's friend."

_I called her in to assist, rather than be stuffed into a ruffled –_ he floundered for words to describe just how awful the selected robes had been. Jean giggled as she translated; clearly, Hermione had heard about them from Ginevra and passed the details along. _In any case, she was very quick about it, and we were done. The robes will be simple but elegant, and I highly doubt that Ginevra will find fault in the selection. Harry was pleased with them, at any rate_.

"Sounds awful." Anthony poured himself another glass of water from the pitcher.

"They were," Hermione sounded contrite. "Gin made me pick out a dress for myself after our fourth fight about what I would absolutely not wear. I almost decided to wear something black just to spite her – but I didn't want her to hex me in public."

Severus's lips twitched.

"Have you ever been a traditional -" Anthony glanced around and whispered the next word. "_Wizarding_ wedding before?"

"Just Bill and Fleur's, but that seemed fairly normal." Severus nodded; he'd been to Lucius's and Cissy's. It'd been a lavish affair, but the ceremony had been a singular experience to witness. He wondered how it would be as a participant, and with the Potter-Weasley wedding mere weeks away, he would find out very soon indeed.

"I haven't looked up a traditional wedding," Hermione said. "Not yet, and not with Bernard on my case over the win. I've been assigned to look up some obscure habitat rules and I've been utterly swamped as a result."

_It's an old wedding custom, _Severus supplied. _It originates from when the families would feud, originally designed to bind two families together, stop the bloodshed_. It was a _very_ brief synopsis, but it would suffice for now.

Hermione finished repeating his words just as their meal arrived, along with a white wine for Jean, who was neither driving nor Apparating.

Severus allowed himself a small smile at his love as he lifted his utensils. With her love and her family, the tediousness and horrors of yesterday fell away to memory where they belonged. Only a few short weeks remained until her best friend's wedding, and he planned to watch her very carefully to see what _she_ preferred when it came to such matters.

After all, he surmised as he cut into the excellent meal before him, all girls dreamt of their wedding day. Hermione would be no different.

* * *

Yay, a long one? :) :)

Timeline anomaly fixed, good catch, guest!


	30. Chapter 30

**Author's Note: I'm sick :( Stupid sore throat and exhaustion... I really wanted to get this up tonight, and I apologise for any errors or mistakes. I haven't finished editing yet, so if you find something, don't hesitate to point it out. :)**

* * *

**CHAPTER 30**

The following weeks proved that, no, Hermione did not think of her own wedding; or if she did, she did not deign to share these imaginings with him. Severus found himself in the same place he had begun: wanting to wed her with no idea how to go about choosing things she'd like. She said nothing about her own dreams, no matter how he tried to open the conversation. Not even a thought to flowers, or a ring. The woman was maddening. How was he to follow his schedule if he could not glean from her the information he desired? He'd been a _spy_ for twenty years, for Merlin's sake! How could this be so difficult?

Ginevra, on the other hand, had clearly been planning hers since birth, but proceeded to change her mind so many times on each detail that Severus wished the Dark Lord was still alive, if only for the sadistic pleasure he would derive from watching the noseless bastard go mad from attempting to glean any sense out of the girl's ginger head. At one point, Severus had gone as far as to toss Hermione's phone out the bedroom window into the small dirt garden when it went off at two in the _fucking_ morning to ask about place settings, of all things.

They'd both been awakened, and as Hermione had groggily answered, he'd sighed and tried to fall back into slumber, to no avail, for Hermione screeched at her friend. As soon as he caught the gist, he snatched the mobile, cast a cushioning charm on it, and cast it out the window despite Hermione's shriek of "Severus!". Needless to say, Miss Weasley did not attempt another such call and they spent their nights much more restfully.

Except that night, as his witch was thoroughly put out with him and had tried to make him sleep on his own couch until he 'convinced' her otherwise. At least he hadn't let the bloody thing shatter.

And yet, life progressed. Hermione seemed determined to avoid as much 'wedding nonsense', as she termed it, as possible and bury herself in her work before she throttled her friend. Severus spent his time stalking Hermione, perusing the Internet, working, brewing potions for Ginevra and Martha, and, of course, being called into St Mungo's for the most inane reasons.

Why, just two weeks ago he'd been called because the pompous potions professional Minerva had hired to replace him - someone charming, and perfectly suited for teaching basic Potioneering to students - had decided that for an end-of-term treat, he'd allow the students to brew something edible.

Didn't the daft man know _anything?_ You didn't eat in a potions lab, and especially not off the damn workbench. If you had to partake of a meal (of which even Severus himself was guilty of in the past on particular brews requiring attentiveness), various spells were used on the surfaces and hands for safety; and, of course, you used a damn plate. Hell, at WWW, he had a separate workbench for eating and notes, and if he had tea out he had a charm over it to prevent things from drifting in.

Four students managed to set their completed candy directly on the work bench and absorb something. (Why the tables were so filthy, Severus had no idea. Clearly, the man didn't assign nearly enough detentions to maintain proper laboratory cleanliness standards.) Of those four, two were poisonous substances. Thankfully, the bloody dunderhead dosed both students with a generic anti-toxin.

_Unfortunately,_ of the two, one was a diabetic (Ravenclaw, Muggle-born...quite unusual); and, of course, the bastard hadn't read any of the student files, so the silly boy had ended up in St. Mungo's with complications out of Poppy's depth.

Severus was well-aware that he cut an imposing figure, and often used that to his advantage.

Having a scared little boy open his eyes and squawk with fright had, hopefully, cured the little oik from ever ingesting anything in a potions lab ever again.

After all, from that particular angle, glaring down his nose was quite intimidating. How he'd missed the fear he could instill...

Hermione'd even been so kind as to send a Howler for him - to the potions teacher (the dunderhead was nowhere near a master status), not Minerva, he wasn't suicidal these days. To her, he wrote a firmly- worded letter that only used the term "moron" and variations thereof nine times. She'd even admired his restraint in her reply, and she'd assured him that she'd speak with the daft blighter about covering such things as _basic fucking safety_.

It made him want to tear his hair out – was everyone trying to aggravate him? It was bad enough that the Potter-Weasley traditional wizarding wedding was quickly looming, and Potter had tried to drag _him_ to a cake-tasting, of all the banal things.

At least George was behaving - only minor pranks between the two, and George had finally given up trying to spike his tea. (He still checked, if only out of habit.) Ronald was learning the ropes of the shop, and, thankfully, had not come to Severus yet with his 'ideas'.

However, even as the weeks passed, growing closer an closer to the wedding so looked-forward to by the wizard inch world of Harry Potter to his childhood sweetheart, Severus's life remained a frantic sort of normal. He slept beside his witch, had lunches, spent evenings with her parents watching funny shows on the telly, and it was... relatively peaceful once he entered his front door. Except at breakfast, when the morning Prophet arrived.

Frankly, Severus wished the papers would find something else to report on that didn't mention what Ginevra wore while running errands, if it indicated her preference in wedding colors, etc. It was _maddening_. This was the Prophet, not bloody Witch Weekly.

While his life calmed, however, Hermione was stressed with work as Bernard sloughed more and more labor onto her delicate shoulders and she had to dash to and fro to assist her friend. Severus had nearly bought Hermione flowers during her cycle, but having seen how she blasted the ones growing in the park on their way to Apparate with a muttered growl that sounded distinctly impolite about the future Mrs. Potter, he wisely reconsidered the notion. Instead, he bought some flowering herbs for potion-making that just happened to lay on the dining table until she put them in a vase with a soft smile.

It was a rushed few weeks, and they both wanted the damn wedding over with so they could go back to the way things had been.

"I'm tired," Hermione moaned, dropping the book she'd been reading over her face. His lips curved slightly, brow raised. "Do you think I can just not take part in the wedding, Severus?"

That she wasn't looking at him told him she wasn't serious, and she sighed.

"It'll be over soon. God, I can't _wait _for Ginny to go back to normal."

The Floo flared green, and Hermione lifted her book curiously. Severus frowned; the only one who ever Flooed them was Minerva, but she never came calling without sending him a letter through the fire (not after that one time), but no letter was forthcoming: just a hand, then an arm, a second arm, and then the rest of Ginevra Weasley.

"Ginny!" Hermione bolted upright off his lap, and he scowled, catching her book before it could crash into the floor. She ignored his admonishing look. Didn't she know how old that book was?

"Hermione, help," the redhead said, tears running down her face. Severus rolled his eyes at the drama of it all, and went to put the kettle on as Hermione gave him an apologetic look. Hopefully, he still had a blend without caffeine from when Hermione had stayed up repeatedly last month – it had been easier to just give her a decaffeinated tea and let her fall asleep than trying to dose her with a mild sedative.

Ah, good, he did. After a little consideration and calculation, Severus Summoned a small vial of Calming Draught from his basement brewing space, wincing as he heard it clip metal. Damn. He'd have to move the potions rack away from the computer.

"I can't do this," Ginevra sobbed. "I want to call it off, I can't _do_ this, Hermione!"

"What can't you do, Gin? Marry Harry?"

_Oh, what fresh hell is this_, he groused, selecting a mug for Ginevra. On second thought,he pulled down the second teapot and chose a relaxing blend for himself and Hermione. He had a feeling they would need it.

"The publicity, the pressure," the girl clarified, voice tremulous through the paper-thin walls. He came back to the doorway and leaned against the jamb, watching and listening as his love consoled her friend. "Everything's rubbish, 'Mione – everyone's watching everything I do. I'm being judged by the _entire_ wizarding world on my wedding!"

"Oh, Gin..." Hermione rubbed her friend's back comfortingly as she crouched awkwardly on the floor. She gave Severus a helpless look. He shrugged, then signed: _He is a hero, their golden boy. Of course they're going to be scrutinising everything she does._

"I can't do this," Ginevra sniffled, and he winced as she wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Mum wants one thing, I want another. Harry doesn't care as long as he ends up married to me, and the papers won't leave me alone. I can't step outside the house wards without a bulb going off."

Hermione laughed at Severus, then turned to Ginevra. "Severus says you should just elope. Then there's nothing to worry about."

That, at least, shocked a giggle out of her. "Never thought I'd get wedding advice from Professor Snape...but no, I can't do that, much as I'd like to. It's important to both Harry and I to have a traditional wedding – you understand that, don't you, sir?"

He inclined his head, then signed, letting Hermione translate.

"'Don't be daft' – Severus, that wasn't nice – 'Elope to Gretna Green, surely your fiance has heard of it. A Muggle wedding now, tonight, to ease your fears and stress. The Muggle vows will not interfere with the magical bonds forged in your ceremony, so you will be able to continue that as planned. Once you are his wife, I daresay your frivolous fears of inadequacy will be for naught.' Really?" Hermione gave him an exasperated look. "Gin, I think that what Severus _means_ is that this is about you and Harry – not the public, not the reporters, not your mum."

Severus gave a little shrug, then went to fetch the kettle, reaching the stove just as it shrilled. She could tell her friend whatever she liked, but, really, it didn't matter. The girl was fretting over table settings and music and what everyone wore when she should be worrying more about the babe inside her and just getting through the wedding without hexing anyone.

Granted, his experience was limited to his knowledge of his parents's train wreck of a marriage (which he'd heard about through drunken rants) and Lucius's wedding (a rather lavish affair), but still. No one would care, later, if you had chocolate cake or bourbon vanilla, or if you wore a Muggle dress or wizarding robe. No one would remember if you had calla lilies or stargazer lilies, or if you had a string quartet or quintet.

It didn't matter how extravagant it was, he thought as he waited for tea to steep while the girls talked in hushed tones. It mattered who you married. At the end of the day, the day was that – ended. Over. Nothing but a memory. What mattered was the rest of your life with that person.

You could be like his parents, arguing and drinking and fighting: or you could be like Lucius, who had cared deeply for his wife and son and their life together had been quite happy, as far as he knew. Of course, it would have been far happier without a dark wizard running about the Manor.

He Summoned a spare handkerchief and picked up the tea tray, placing it on the coffee table and conjuring a chair for himself after levering Ginevra to her feet and depositing her into his normal seat on the couch. She took the handkerchief and accepted the teacup with little protest – good. Hermione had done an admirable job at calming her. Didn't stop him from deftly dispensing a dose of Calming Draught into the girl's tea under the guise of giving the tea a stir.

Ginevra fell asleep a while later, and he and Hermione bickered briefly – he was all for waking her and shunting her back through the Floo, whereas she was content to let her emotionally-drained friend sleep on the couch. After a great deal of persuasion on his part, his love Flooed the Burrow, allowing Molly into his home long enough to send the girl back.

Having noticed the woman's eye raking over the house, he made a mental note to block her from Flooing over uninvited. The last thing he wanted to do was come home to discover a Wealsey-knitted blanket with matching curtains adorning his sitting room.

Hermione picked up her previous book, looking at it as if she wasn't sure she felt like reading. He didn't blame her. Only two more days until the bloody wedding stopped consuming their spare time. She sighed and looked at him.

"At least she's trying. Poor Gin, wanting to mix wizard and Muggle traditions for Harry. I know Molly's been hounding her about everything. She just wants it to be lovely, with her friends and her family, and it's turned into this huge event out of her control." Severus didn't say anything, just plucked the book from her hands with deft fingers and slid her closer to him on the couch. "Harry's pretty daunted, too. He knows he chose to play Quidditch, but he hates that the attention is all because of things outside of his control, rather than what he's good at."

_I thought he was relatively decent at causing mayhem with Dark Lords,_ Severus thought with a snort, burrowing his face in her curls. She smelled divine.

Hermione yawned. "Let's just... go to bed. Tomorrow is all the pre-wedding stuff and I think I need to sleep in order to get through it without hexing someone."

He smirked and disentangled from her, rising gracefully from the sofa, extending a long-fingered hand to his love. She quirked him a smile, exhaustion etched across her lovely features, but accepted his help to her feet. She was quiet as they finished their evening ablutions, and Severus lay in bed with his eyes closed before she arrived, listening to the sound of Hermione brushing her teeth. It was a wonder her gums didn't bleed, but he supposed they were well-used to the vigorous cleanings.

Feet padded across the small landing, and the bed sagged with her weight. Hermione threw the covers over them both despite knowing he would toss them off shortly after slumber caught him. All the same, she wound her way into his arms, her hair pillowing her head on his skinny chest. In the beginning, he'd been certain that the sharpness of his bones would be uncomfortable, but she didn't even seem to notice it.

They lay in quiet, Hermione's breathing growing steadier as his hands traced a lazy pattern on her arm. She yawned suddenly. "Poor Ginny...so much effort and worry for something that's supposed to be so happy for her."

He nodded slowly, knowing she'd feel the movement even if it was too dark to see him. She was quiet again, and he reveled in the sleep-warm feel of her in his arms. Merlin, he was exhausted, and hoped she would quiet her busy mind so she would fall asleep.

"Severus?" she mumbled some time later, sleep coloring her tone. He blinked; he'd been nearly asleep himself. When she continued, her words were so soft and slurred with exhaustion that he almost didn't make them out clearly.

"When we get married, can we just have a small wedding? We don't even have to tell anyone – we can say it's a party and surprise them with a wedding." She yawned again. "I don't want this much fuss. I'm happy just with you."

His heart thundered in his chest – surely she could feel the pounding of it under her cheek? Severus twisted his neck to press lips to her wild curls. She wanted to marry him, she did. She wouldn't refuse him. She _did_ think about it!

Oh, he'd been fairly certain she'd accept his suit, but to _hear _her say it aloud! The panic that had been slowly infusing his mind since deciding to wed her receded somewhat. She wouldn't reject him. She considered things for them in the long-term. His quiet fears that she'd find some younger, more handsome wizard melted away. Hermione wanted to marry him. From his shoulder, his love snored softly and he shifted carefully, enveloping her protectively in his arms, curled up to face her.

Bringing a gentle finger to stroke her cheek, he allowed himself a soft smile.

* * *

Severus glowered at the mirror he'd conjured. _There is nothing wrong with my hair!_ There wasn't – yes, it was long, and thin, and tended to hang heavy with sweat and grease before much time had passed (or flyaway and annoy him). He flicked his hand at the board he'd transfigured. **Get those scissors away from me, you daft bint! I came to this questionable place for a **_**trim**_**, not a bloody lecture!**

Jean crossed her arms and glared at his reflection. "Only because you didn't want a stranger near your neck with something sharp, I wager, given your acerbic tongue." The light glanced off the scissors she held. "I've cut Anthony's hair for years, and Hermione's. I'm not _saying _anything is wrong with your hair, Severus, I'm saying it could stand to lose a little length! God, you're a prickly man. Tip your head back, you impossible boy."

He scowled, fighting a smile. Ah, there was the steel Hermione had inherited. He'd wondered which parent it had been, as the logic seemed to be mostly from her father. It made sense it was her mother, really. Jean tugged on his hair and he snarled but tilted his head back slightly.

"More."

He was going to make her fight for it, if only for her audacity in challenging him. Did she think he was a child?

"More, Severus." Another tug, and he winced, tilting further. "Better. You're going to be a pain of a son-in-law, aren't you?"

Her tone was fond and he raised a brow at her. _I suppose Anthony's been talking..._

"Don't give me that look – you may have been a teacher, _Professor_, but I'm a mother, and I see very well how you look at Hermione." Deft hands measured the length of his hair, scissors snipping, and he resisted the urge to look and see how long the black strands on the linoleum of the Granger's kitchen floor were. More snipping. "So I assume you'll eventually be asking her, unless she loses patience and does it herself."

That earned her another scowl, but she just smiled at him. "Head forward. Chin up. Good, now straighten your shoulders."

_As bossy as her daughter_, he thought, but not uncharitably.

The scissors clipped merrily; she certainly was skilled, and this was far better than attempting to go to a Wizarding salon or, Merlin forbid, one of those Muggle barber shops. He was glad, now, that Hermione had whinged about being dragged to a spa with Ginevra and some other girls – like that Fleur – for pre-wedding niceties, when she'd rather save the galleons and ask her mum.

So he'd rapped on the door, and Jean had positively _beamed_ before dragging him inside and draping a floral bed sheet over his clothes. The indignity of it.

"Close your eyes – I don't want you flinching when I have the scissors so close to your jaw." Jean moved in front of him, and he closed his eyes obediently. The snipping _was _awfully close to his neck, and he fell into Occlumency for calm.

_This is Hermione's mother. You are safe here, _he told himself over and over.

After several minutes the clipping stopped.

"There," Jean said in a self-satisfied tone. "All done. Just a trim. Open your eyes, Severus."

Severus blinked, focusing at himself in the mirror, turning his head left and right. She'd done well; less than an inch off, and much tidier than his own attempts. His hair now just barely brushed over his shoulders, nice and even.

"See?" She placed a warm hand on his shoulder, a motherly touch, and the pang of it struck him. "You'll look quite nice. I think Hermione will be pleased."

He fought down a light blush, flicking his hand to Vanish the hairs and then at the chalkboard. **Thank you**.

"Not a problem." Jean whisked the sheet away, carefully bundling for washing it even though so hairs remained to fall upon the floor. "You're a good man, Severus. We'll see you this weekend for dinner, yes?"

Inclining his head in reply, he Transfigured the chalkboard and mirror back into cutting board and kettle. He pocketed the piece of chalk almost absently.

"Oh, and by the way," he heard her call from the laundry room. "I want grandchildren, so you'd bloody better start thinking on that now!"

His jaw clenched and he Apparated with the noisiest crack he could manage, hoping the sound would shatter one or two of the atrocious china knickknacks. _The nerve of her!_

* * *

"Severus?" Hermione's voice was questioning, and he rapped on the wall. "Oh. You're down here." The basement stairs creaked and he clicked the mouse idly. "Oh! You got a trim. You look handsome."

He looked up to see her smiling and scrubbed nearly pink, and frowned. _You are red_, he signed. _Have you had an adverse reaction to something at the spa?_

"Maybe," she said. "But I don't have any allergies."

_That you know of,_ he retorted, bookmarking the page he was viewing before closing the browser and gesturing for her to come into the lab. The color of her skin looked worse in the fluorescent lighting and he grimaced.

_Does it hurt? Itch? Any form of discomfort?_he inquired before stroking his fingers gently across her cheeks. She felt warmer than usual, but there were no bumps forming, no raised welts. Just the spread of color.

Hermione shook her head. "It doesn't hurt, and it doesn't itch, per se... it just... feels wrong."

He drew his hands back. _Do you know what they used?_

"Some sort of lotion, um..." Hermione blushed darkly. "All over."

Severus snorted. Of course she'd be shy about it. Merlin's knees, he'd seen her naked several times by now, and he highly doubted they'd gotten lotion in a place that he had neither touched nor kissed. Or licked, come to think of it. She swatted his knee with a grin.

"Be nice,this is awkward for me. Fleur's fairly sure that it'll go away by the morning." He gave her dry look.

_How droll. Mrs. Weasley is the authority on spas. _She rolled her eyes at him for that. _I have something that may be of assistance, if you are amenable. We had best not risk your friend's wrath when you show up in her wedding photos looking like a strawberry. _

Hermione gasped. "Ginny'd _kill_ me"

Rising, he captured her hand, plucked a container and vial from his newly-moved shelves, and tugged her upstairs. When they reached the bathroom, he ordered her to strip. Exasperated, she complied, and he studied her skin. _Definitely irritated, and most certainly will not go away on its own._ And despite her blushing claim, it wasn't 'all over' – just nearly. The towels she must have been draped with had prevented some sensitive areas from irritation, and for that he was grateful. His wand cut through the air purposefully as he transfigured the shower into a shallow tub and started the water.

"I've had three soaks today," she muttered, clearly feeling mutinous.

_Take it out on me later, then_, he snapped, fingers flying. _Unless you'd like this to persist or worsen, you'll need to soak a bit; no more than ten minutes, don't worry_.

With deft fingers, he helped her pile her curls on top of her head. Merlin. She was stunning that way and he shook himself out of it, pouring the contents of the vial into the warm water before helping her to step into it. He balled up a hand towel and Summoned a washcloth.

_You'll need to soak your face as well. Tip your head back, love, and close your eyes_. Hermione obeyed, and he cushioned her neck against the tub with the towel. He soaked the washcloth and wrung it a bit, then carefully covered her face with it. _There._ That should stop the redness from spreading, and, indeed, she sighed softly and relaxed.

"It feels better," Hermione said quietly after a few minutes in companionable quiet. He stroked a finger down her arm in the water from his place on the floor beside the tub, the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled to his elbows.

_I'm too old to be sitting on the floor_, Severus thought drily, his lips twisting into a grimace. _Either that, or the tile is too hard and my arse too bony... Maybe both._ Her fingers entwined with his under the water, the faded silver-grey of his Mark pressed against the tub's edge, but he didn't mind. It was quiet, and peaceful, to spend this time with her. Usually when one of them was undressed, they were going to be physically intimate, or had been recently.

Oh, she'd walked around in a towel or robe, as had he – but this was not the same. There was a feeling of nakedness during those times, the desire to cover oneself. This was...pleasant. A different type of intimacy. Nudity without the lust. Severus closed his eyes and reveled in it, in her trust and warmth with her small hand in his.

A few more minutes of soaking, and he lifted her arm from the bath for inspection. _No more discoloration. Good._ He gently lifted the washcloth from her face, kneeling beside the tub with a wince as he regarded her skin. _Much better_. Severus levered himself to his feet as she opened her eyes, and he urged her from the tub.

She smiled at him with a small shiver, and he enveloped her in her towel. "It looks so much better."

He gave her a curt nod and began to rub her down, and she giggled as he encountered her rib cage. She saw his calculating look and narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't you dare!"

Severus smirked broadly and continued drying her. _Oh, but I dare so well..._ He tucked the knowledge away, careful to dry the bath water from her smooth skin, not missing a single curve or crevice. When she attempted to stop him, saying that she could do it herself, he quelled her with a single look. When he started to dry her feet, she put her hands on his shoulders.

"Oh!" She cried out in dismay. "It stripped off the lacquer!"

Raising an eyebrow, he glanced up at her.

"My toes, too! Ginny'll be furious..." He sat back on his heels for balance and signed.

_Surely your friend would understand that it is and was not intentional to be lacking in varnish on your digits._

"True." Hermione bit her lip, chewing it nervously. "She's one of my best friends...I just want her day to be perfect, and anything I can do to alleviate the stress..."

_Say no more_, he told her. As much as he found the idea of putting color on one's nails to be a silly idea, he understood very well how loyal she was to her friends, and to him. _What color does it need to be?_

"Light pink toes and clear on the fingers," Hermione told him. "I know I have clear, I use it when I'm trying not bite my nails; and I think I have some pink of a similar shade on the dresser."

_Yes, you stop biting your nails only to gnaw on your quills,_ he told her affectionately as he followed her into the bedroom. She wrapped in her robe before poking at the items piled onto the mirrored tray she kept on the dresser. From under a pile of hair elastics she pulled two bottles and sat on the edge of the bed.

Hermione shrieked and tried to catch her balance as he sat beside her and pulled a foot onto his lap. She looked at him, brown eyes incredulous, but he scowled at her until she relented and handed him the little bottle of lacquer.

Severus hesitated when the acrid smell of it reached his nose. Vile substance... he wondered if Wizarding ones suffered from the same problem, and if was something he should bring up to George and Ronald. He watched Hermione crack open her bottle, studiously avoiding his gaze with pinkened cheeks. How hard could applying this be? It was a small brush. _Perhaps I should merely charm it on_...

But he found himself dabbing the little stick into the bottle and cautiously brushing it across her toenails nonetheless. _Not too difficult, then_. It was goopy stuff, and he copied her motion of brushing the applicator against the mouth of the bottle to void dripping it on her skin. They worked in quiet, minus Hermione's brief giggle as he brushed against the underside of one foot. She received a glare for it, but her smile was warm as he tightened his grip to avoid being kicked in the nose.

"It has to dry," she told him, holding her hands and feet awkwardly.

_Obviously,_ he told her, then took her bottle and replaced both on the dresser. _Open your robe, let me see your skin_.

"Can't – my nails are wet." Severus rolled his eyes and simply Vanished it. "Hey!"

_It's in the laundry bin, _he signed, then bent and lifted her arm, inspecting it. Much, much better, but there was still the chance of the irritation returning. He dropped her arm then returned to the bathroom for the jar he'd brought up from the basement.

"What is it?" _Ever-curious know-it-all_, he thought, not unkindly. Rather than answer, he merely opened it and dipped his fingers into the salve and began to rub her arm in firm strokes, adding more of the scentless salve as needed.

"That feels marvelous," she murmured, becoming pliant and he scowled as she nearly slumped over onto him. Severus nudged her, careful of her nails, and worked the salve into her torso. Hermione giggled when he reached her sides, but thankfully she didn't squirm and dump them both onto the bedroom floor. The bed creaked as he shifted, moving down her legs.

"I can't believe Gin's wedding is tomorrow and I still haven't done proper research on it." Her tone was mournful and he reached for her other leg. "All I know is that I'm her maid of honor, and my job is to make sure she gets places unbothered by harmful things, that her train is in place, her veil straight, and hold her bouquet. Oh, and make a toast."

_That's the gist of it._ Seeing as how his hands were busy, he nodded slowly. Maids and matrons of honor, much like the best man, did not do much in this sort of wizarding ceremony. Held things, made sure their charges got from point A to point B, and generally stood around looking happy for photographs...much like what he knew of Muggle weddings. It was the rest of the wedding party who had more of a job to do.

By time he had finished salving her back and had gently massaged it even into her face, Hermione was asleep, sprawled face-down among their pillows, hands cautiously played and feet dangling off the bed to protect the lacquer. Checking that her nails were, indeed, quite dry, he carefully maneuvered her fully onto the bed and covered her with the quilt she preferred in summer months. She didn't wake.

Shaking his head at the absurdity of it, Severus quietly headed back to the basement to shut off his computer and replace the jar on the shelf. Nothing meowed meaningfully at his empty dish, and Severus narrowed his eyes at the furry little beast. Twice before the damn cat had tricked both him and Hermione into feeding him, and Nothing looked far too pitiful to be truly starving.

With a smug smirk at the black-and-orange cat, Severus tipped some dry food into the bowl and refreshed the water. Nothing twitched his tail and ratty ear, giving the food a disdainful sniff. _Serves you right, you manky thing._ As if hearing this thoughts, the cat gave him a baleful glare and sauntered away, certain to show Severus his arse. Even though it was a cat, Severus still felt obliged to rudely salute him with #94.

* * *

Hermione's annoying Muggle alarm woke them the next morning – Severus did not usually use such things, given their abrasive tone, but given Hermione's slugabed nature, she'd deemed it necessary to program it for today. It beeped and buzzed, obnoxiously flashing the time (7:00am) and date (June 14th) with every harsh beep.

Worse, the silly girl hit 'snooze' four times before he cast Aguamenti and she shot awake, spluttering. He scowled at her, and she gave him a black look back. "I hate getting up early."

_I know_, he thought drily, waving a hand to dry her from the water he'd doused her with. No sense in making her shower again after last night. There was much to be done today, and surprisingly little time in which to do it. Hermione flopped back down onto her pillow and he shook her gently.

"I'm up, really," she muttered, pushing her curls back from her face. All of the redness from yesterday was gone, he was pleased to note, and he shook her again. Hermione sighed. "Why does Ginny need my help at eight in the morning for, again?"

In reply, he tugged on her hair, and she scrubbed at her face, rolling onto her back to look up at him with a tired smile. "Good morning, my love."

_Morning, but whether or not it is a good one remains to be seen,_ he replied, fingers nimble despite his underlying fatigue. She laughed and pulled him down to kiss her. Even morning breath could not dissuade his passion from rising – she was warm and soft and entirely naked beneath his roaming hands and lips.

A quick glance at the clock – they had time enough for this. Severus smirked widely, then buried his nose in the curve of her neck, his tongue tracing patterns on her skin. Hermione writhed beneath him, her small hands exploring his back and arse, urging him on with murmured words. She twisted her head and licked his neck, right over his scars, and he tensed. Sweet Merlin, that felt divine! He knew he was panting already as he slipped inside her. How was she so wet already?

The high, whimpering moan that left her was music to his ears. Her lips left his neck, moving to meet his and he kissed her slowly, passionately, as he moved within her. There was very little urgency, just the warm feel of skin on skin, her wetness around his aching length.

He swallowed each gasp, each moan, that left her pretty lips as she arched her breasts against the hair on his chest. There was sweetness in this; her desire for him was palpable and he slipped into her mind between languid thrusts. Severus could feel everything – her love, her lust, the way he felt inside her... Hermione's brown eyes opened to his, watching him go slack-jawed with concentration as he fed his emotions back to her.

_Sweet fuck!_ It was incredible – he watched her eyes desperately, knowing everything was shared between them as her breaths grew squeaked and quick, her body clenching around him tighter and tighter until she arched, crying out beneath him. The way she clung to him as her body pulsed drove him onward, clutching her tightly as he chased his own orgasm.

Legs wrapped around his hips as he pistoned in and out of her, his body straining to come. His mind, still meshed with hers, was shattering, his thoughts so focused on the _feeling _of her, of him, of them together... _So close, so close...Merlin, Hermione, let me come, I'm so close to the edge..._ He sobbed silently into her neck, burying his face in her wild curls, and he could sense the wickedness in her as she purposefully clenched around him again.

Severus's world went white behind his closed eyes and he panted, slowing his movements, so sensitized that he thought he very well may set himself off again were he a decade or two younger. When finally he lay still, her hands idly stroking his sweaty back and her heart pounding against hers, he disentangled his mind from hers. There was an echo of loss, but she still smiled at him when he drew back and kissed her gently, thankfully. Her trust, so freely given, was a precious gift to him, and he loved her all the more for it.

They both glanced at the clock as one.

_Fuck._

"Shit!" Hermione kissed him again, hard and quick squirming out from under his weight. "Damn, I'm sorry, Severus, to shag and run, but..."

He slumped down to the bed and made a shooing motion with his hand. She grinned at him and kissed him a last time as she snagged her wand, casting a quick cleansing charm. "I'll brush my teeth, then I'll go.. see you at the wedding, love!"

_Yes,_ he agreed, watching her run from the room with her Summoned clothes trailing behind her pert bottom. Severus stretched lethargically as the washroom door swung shut. What a pleasant start to his day.

* * *

Promptly at noon, Severus presented himself at Grimmauld, robes for himself and the rest of the gentlemen in the wedding party in the expanded bag at his side.

"Severus!" Harry grinned widely at him, and, thankfully, did not attempt to embrace him. "Right on time, as usual."

Severus stepped past the other man into the hall, and they headed into the kitchen to distribute Malkin's handiwork to the appropriate gentlemen. George whistled at his. "I must say, Snape, your friend's got fantastic taste."

"Ginny'll be pleasantly surprised, I think," Arthur agreed, shoes and robes in hand as he handed Percy his. He looked strained – Severus assumed that giving away one's only daughter had that effect on a man. "I'll just pop upstairs and change into these, only a few hours left, after all!"

"Nervous, mate?" Ronald asked to Harry, who shook his head. Longbottom looked warily at his robe before heading up the stairs resignedly. Ah. Severus had wondered who the boy had chosen as a best man.

"Excited, more like." Charlie took his suit, sighed in resignation, and also left the room.

"That's the way to think of it," Bill assured him. "At the end of the day, you'll be married to Ginny: just focus on that if you get nervous."

"Not helping," Harry muttered once Bill was out of earshot. George clapped him on the back, and Severus's lips twitched in amusement.

"At least Mum mostly stayed out of it," George told him seriously. "Fred'n I promised each other that we'd have to tie her up to stop her from interfering with ours." The remaining twin gave them both a half-hearted smile. "It'll be your job now, Harry...Snape, are you really going to wear dragon-hide boots to a wedding?"

Severus lifted an eyebrow and sneered. Of course he was. Ronald barked a laugh and grinned at his robes. "Well, at least I won't look like Great-Aunt Tessie this go."

"Or smell like her," Harry added. "Alright – let's all get changed, then. We've got an hour 'til I'm a married man. I can't help but worry how Gin's doing. She's been rather stressed lately."

A few more jovial exchanges between the Weasleys and their brother-to-be drifted behind him as Severus headed for the second floor. Harry, it turned out, had kindly labeled the doors so no one would accidentally walk in on someone starkers.

The robes fit well – Cissy had exquisite taste, and Malkin, for all her tomfoolery, had met Cissy's exacting standards. A dark gray, rather than black, with delicate cream embroidery around the cuffs, and hints of blue. A wonderful robe for the occasion.

The only trouble was that Severus's hair had dried from his shower and was now flying every which-way and driving him mad. Damn it. He glared at his reflection, willing his hair to lay flat, to no avail. With a sigh, he pulled out his mobile. Surely Hermione had some product in the bathroom at home that would provide an adequate solution.

'Hermione, this is a daft question – what would you use to keep hair from flying away?' Several minutes passed as he tried to smooth his locks, to no reply. He _hated _this. By now, he'd already been up and working over a cauldron, leaving no need for him to stop his fine, thin hair from doing this.

His mobile nearly vibrated off the ancient dressing table. 'Assuming this is for you, and not for Harry...Do you have lotion? If so, rub a little on your hands, then smooth your hands over your hair. Quick and easy. If it IS for Harry, you'll need Sleekeazy's."

Severus scowled. He'd have to find lotion, then. With a swirl of robes, he left his designated room and headed to the loo. Harry had Ginevra over here quite often, so there should be some lotion here. Ah. He was in luck, and not only was there a lotion, but it was also unscented. _Thank Merlin for small favors. I had no desire to be wandering about with my hair smelling like that bloody ponce, Lockhart_.

'It worked,' he texted back to Hermione before replacing the mobile in his pocket. He doubted a reply would be forthcoming, and if one was, the damn thing was set to vibrate.

"All ready, then?" Arthur asked as he stepped into the sitting room. They were all assembled, and Harry looked a tad green around the gills, but he nodded. Severus discreetly passed him a vial, which the boy took thankfully.

They all grasped the battered Muggle cassette tape box, and Arthur whirled them all away.

* * *

The Weasley women were lovely in their blue gowns, but, frankly, Severus thought that Hermione outshone them all, her curls pinned back just so. Even Fleur Weasley's Veela ancestry could not hold a candle to his love's beauty.

He scowled at himself mentally, even as his eyes feasted upon her progress down the aisle. _Stop mooning about. You sound like a lovestruck fool, so smitten with your witch that no other could compare. Next thing you know,_ he told himself, _you'll be writing sonnets and spouting poetry with the least provocation._

But she looked so lovely as her eyes locked onto his. Pink lips curved into a soft smile, the soft blue off-shoulder Muggle gown allowing her hair to accent her pale shoulders. He could just see her open-toed shoes peeping out beneath the hemline with each step. She was lovely, yes, with eyes only for him.

The sea of guests turned as the band struck up the March, and Arthur appeared under the bower of peonies with Ginevra – another Muggle tradition she'd chosen to honor for her husband-to-be. The girl looked stunning, and Longbottom just barely stopped Harry from running down the aisle to meet her with a gentle hand on the other man's elbow. The white gown – damned if he knew what the cut was called – hid the girl's tiny three-month bump perfectly. Not a single guest would know she was carrying the next generation of Potters.

Bulbs flashed, and next to him, Hagrid blew his nose loudly. _Already?_ The half-giant had a tender heart, as most knew, but to be crying before any vows? Severus glanced at Hermione, who smiled again, her expression almost wistful. Arthur passed Ginevra to Harry before taking his place at Molly's side, and together the bride and groom faced the Bonder, a short, happily plump fellow in a rather atrocious shade of yellow.

They'd chosen well, blending Muggle vows with Wizarding ones, the promises to honor and love and cherish, regardless of health or wealth. Several times he caught Hermione blinking back tears or dabbing discreetly at her eyes, the gold chain on her wrist flashing in the sunlight.

"And now, to the more traditional portion of our ceremony." The front rows rose as one, coming forward. He saw Hermione frown briefly, her fingers tightening on the bouquets she held, and he raised an eyebrow as he recognised her burning curiosity. _And this, my lovely swot, is what happens when you don't learn things from a book – you experience it, and it is infinitely more amazing. _

"We have come together today, to not only join Harry and Ginevra in marriage, but their families as well. Let animosities be forgotten and forgiven. Let those without a home find shelter in the hearts of their family. Ginevra, as the woman, the creator of life, the provider and caretaker, who do you bind to your spouse?"

"I give my father, Arthur, and my mother, Molly, who have raised me with love and temperance, and taught me to love and be loved in return. I give my brothers, Charles, William, Percy, George, and Ronald, who have taught me to care, to fight, to stand for myself, to laugh, to think. I give my sisters-in-law, Fleur and Martha, to you as well as our family's children and hope for more. Together we are a family, and stand strong. We open our hearts and our homes to my husband and his family."

"And Harry, as the man, the giver of life, the provider and caretaker, who do you bind to your spouse?"

"Though the family of my blood is gone," Harry choked out, his gaze firmly locked with his wife's as he took a calming breath. "I give those who have stood by me in their stead. In place of my father, I give Rubeus Hagrid, who taught me of myself, my past, my nature. He let me be a child when times were hard, and brought me twice into the world where I met this woman, whom I love dearly."

Hagrid sniffed loudly, tears spilling from his beetle-black eyes and into his beard.

"In place of my mother," Harry continued with a smile. "I give Severus Snape, who taught me to keep my secrets, to stand firm for my beliefs, and to never judge someone by their appearance or words, but by their actions. He helped me grow into a man, showed me the strength of love, and never wavered from my side, even when harsh words were spoken. Together, we are a family, as diverse and unique as our skills. We open our hearts and our homes to my wife and her family."

The Bonder led them through the responses, and they spoke as one, binding their families together. The magic was beautiful, Severus signing his way through each reply as it looped around them, golden-bright and shining with love and strength. Longbottom was teary-eyed, and Hermione was openly crying.

It was a strange feeling, but peaceful, to feel his magic linked and woven first to Harry and Hagrid, then to the Weasleys. The feeling of welcome, of love, caught at his breath.

When the magic faded, leaving the guests in awed silence, they sat as the Bonder cleared his throat once more. "Witches and Wizards, ladies and gentlemen, please allow me the pleasure of introducing Mister and Missus Potter. Mister Potter, you may kiss your bride!"

Ginevra threw her arms around Harry and he staggered, kissing her back with all the love and passion a man was capable of feeling in such a moment.

The cheering was deafening, and the bulbs flashed, blinding them all.

* * *

So there you have it – the Potter-Weasley wedding. Happy Birthday to Harry (and JK!). :)


End file.
